Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Bloody hell bloody hell bloody hell!"

"'Teazer, will you shut it already? I can't hear myself freeze."

"I'm past freezin'! I think I'm startin' to feel like I'm burnin' up!"

"Maybe if you—agh!" Mungojerrie shrieked at the sudden gust of icy wind, huddling down into a tight little ball against the cobblestone ground in a vain attempt to keep warm until the gust had passed.

A few paces behind him, Rumpelteazer moaned dramatically. "It's too cold, Jerrie! Go on without me, save yourself!"

"A'ight. I'll remember you while I'm eatin' your leftover meat pies."

"Oi! Bloody wanker. Wait up."

Rumpelteazer hurried to join her brother, who'd managed to uncurl and continued to creep along the ground. There was barely any snow, save for a light dusting on the cobblestones of Victoria Grove, but the wind seemed particularly relentless for an early-January morning.

"Is it just me," she grumbled. "Or is this one bad, bad winter?"

"S'cold," Mungojerrie agreed, chancing to lift his nose into the frigid air, hoping to sniff out something or someone familiar. He was starving, and it seemed none of their usual acquaintances were open for business.

The Heart and Crown was up ahead; it shared a covered alley with the sweets shop next door, where many of the strays of Victoria Grove went to seek shelter, gossip, and companionship, but Mungojerrie was pessimistic about finding anything there.

"Nothin' at the Heart and Crown either, I betcha," Rumpelteazer sighed, as though reading his mind.

Sure enough, they rounded the pub's corner to find the usual wooden crates and empty boxes that served as furniture for the strays, but not a cat in sight.

"Where is everyone?" Mungojerrie muttered. "Maybe we oughta just go back to the junkyard. We got food there."

Rumpelteazer nodded glumly, butting against her brother for scant warmth. "I was lookin' forward to some Shrewsbury cakes. Junkyard's warmer though."

"Wanna try the Clocktower pub before we pack it in? Vin's always good for a bite."

"S'long as he's got a fresh pot of tea goin' on."

Trudging on against the wind, dodging the hurried footsteps of humans who were too chilly and bundled-up themselves to bother looking where they were going, the twins hurried along the frozen cobblestones until they'd reached the familiar sculpted wooden clocktower of the pub.

Mungojerrie stamped his paws and glared up at the Clocktower pub's closed shutter. "What's Vin thinkin', closing off the window like that?"

"I guess he doesn't feel like company," Rumpelteazer shrugged, huddling once again into a tight little ball.

"He always feels like company," Mungojerrie grumbled. "Oi! Vin! Where the bloody hell are ya? We're freezin' our tails off out here!"

The shutter popped open a crack, but the cat that peeled out wasn't the scruffy brown tom they were expecting; it was a long-haired caramel queen, who moved the shutter open all the way at the sight of the two and perched on the edge of the window to look down at them miserably.

"Oh. Hullo, Priscilla," Rumpelteazer sniffed. She'd never made it a secret that she disliked the queen. "You're not Vin. Is he around?"

Priscilla gave her a tight look and decided to address her brother instead. "Vincenzo isn't here. Oh, it's awful! I haven't seen him in weeks, 'Jerrie!"

"That's weird," Mungojerrie said. "Did he take off travellin'?"

"Lots of cats have gone missin', looks like," Rumpelteazer said. "Are they leavin' Victoria Grove for the winter? Or London?"

"No, you dolt," Priscilla huffed. She gave a furtive look around; there wasn't a single cat in sight, only two humans who, bundled-up as they were, hurried to pull open the door of the Clocktower pub and seek shelter inside.

Despite the lack of a single presence, Priscilla leapt down from the windowsill, pausing to glare as a gust of wind ruffled her fur.

She leaned in close to Mungojerrie and whispered, "It's him."

"Him? Him who?"

"You know who I mean," the caramel queen said through clenched fangs. "It's because of him that so many cats are gone. Macavity."

She said the name so lowly it was almost as though she'd only mouthed it. It was enough, though; as if on cue, Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer both shuddered and cast a quick look around. It was survival instinct; no cat in London went about chattering casually about Macavity.

"He took Vin?" Rumpelteazer whispered. "How? Why?"

"He didn't take him, exactly," Priscilla said. "You two dolts miss out on a lot, all cozy in your junkyard. Ever since that business with the magic queen and the kittens last year, things have been different around here, if you catch my meaning. Dangerous. Very dangerous."

Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer exchanged a quick, uneasy look. They'd learned, in the past year, that very few of the Victoria Grove strays knew the details of Macavity's kidnapping of the 'magic queen' and the kittens. Few knew where the queen came from, and none knew that the 'queen' in question was actually a tom: Mistoffelees, at the time pregnant with a litter of seven kittens.

Only the junkyard Jellicles had been privy to the fact that Macavity had orchestrated the kidnapping with the goal of getting his paws on the one magical cat who could bear him a litter of magical kittens of his own. Whether the magical cat was a queen or a tom made no difference to the Hidden Paw.

It was actually Vincenzo, the stray who had warned Mungojerrie in the first place, who'd helped lead Munkustrap, Rum Tum Tugger and Skimbleshanks to Macavity's lair in time to rescue and help a labouring Mistoffelees deliver the kittens safely. Over the past year and a half, the memories of the entire event had begun to fade, and life had returned to normal.

No one had been completely certain of Macavity's status— only vague talk of him attacking the junkyard, which alone served to indicate to the Jellicles that he was still alive and well after being attacked by a pregnant and panicked Mistoffelees' magic.

As far as the rest of London was concerned, no one knew what had become of him. Was he alive or dead? Still active, or had he run and hidden outside London? There had been rumours and whispers in Victoria Grove about Macavity's activities, but rumours were exactly that. This was the first time Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer had heard anything concrete.

"What you do mean by dangerous, Prissy?" Mungojerrie asked. "Anybody turn up… dead?"

Priscilla weakly shook her head. "Not exactly. Hard to say, mind. Rumour has it, some cats—the biggest, strongest, not always smartest ones—have been… recruited, you could say. But in the 'saying no isn't an option' sort of way, if you catch my meaning."

"He's recruiting," Rumpelteazer frowned, casting a quick look at her brother. "For henchcats?"

Priscilla gave her an irritated look. "Search me. Henchcats, some kinda army, target practice, who knows? But he's snappin' up every available tom and queen in Victoria Grove. And I can promise you, those who said no to him aren't exactly strolling back home to live on, business as usual."

"Bloody weird," Mungojerrie muttered.

"One day, Vincenzo was here, bein' all tender with me," Priscilla said. "Then some awful-looking stray comes knocking at the shutters. Said he needed to talk to Vin, alone. Said it was an important business proposition. Then just like that… I don't see Vin anymore. Gone. Gone to work for him… or worse, if Vin said no."

"Bloody weird," Rumpelteazer echoed. "Poor Vin! I hope he's okay."

"He's not the brightest," Priscilla sniffed. "But he's the sort M—he likes to keep around."

Another gust of wind made Priscilla whine, and made Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer shiver and huddle closer together.

The odd news alone was enough to make any cat shiver. Not only was Macavity alive, but also rebuilding after nearly a year of silence. For all they knew, Mungojerrie decided, Macavity was simply preparing to move out of London and on to bigger, better schemes. No sense worrying until they'd seen more signs of the Hidden Paw's plans, if any.

"All right," the caramel queen sighed. "I'm not Vin, but I guess I can bring you two in for something warm to drink. It's not safe to keep talking like this outside, in any case."

"Good!" Rumpelteazer brightened, thoughts of Macavity all but forgotten at the thought of finally thawing out. "I could use a hot toddy."

"Easy, 'Teazer," Mungojerrie said, following Priscilla and his sister back up to the still-open shutters of the Clocktower. "You turn into kind of an ogre when you drink, you know?"

Chapter Text

"And there you go," Mistoffelees said, lifting his paws from a round stone nestled in a clay dish. It glowed faintly red. "This should last you a few weeks. Just don't touch it with your bare paws, and make sure none of the kittens go near it at all. I don't want anyone to burn themselves."

Victoria shifted the sleeping kitten in her arm so she could reach over and place her hand a short way above the stone. She reacted to the heat with a delighted smile.

"Misto, this is wonderful! It's heating up the whole den! How can we thank you?"

"Just stay warm," Mistoffelees said, smiling as Lyrette, the kitten in Victoria's arms yawned and kneaded at the air briefly. The little white and pale ginger queen was the sole result of Victoria and Plato's second litter, born a few months ago. "It's been a rough winter."

Victoria's other two kittens, a quiet white tom named Cygnus and an energetic ginger queen named Coloratura, were bundled up and playing in the back of the den. They'd all but swamped Mistoffelees when he'd arrived earlier, and it was all Victoria could do to send them off to play on their own while the tux prepared the hot stones for the den. They loved watching Mistoffelees perform his magic, but Victoria didn't want them to get too interested in the hot stones, lest they decide to play with them and burn themselves.

"Rough winter," Victoria agreed. Quietly, she added, "And a rough year."

Mistoffelees sighed in acknowledgement. It had been a rough year, for many of the Jellicles; the last Jellicle Ball alone had had its share of anguish for many, starting with the unexpected arrival of the much-maligned Grizabella, followed by Macavity's repeated intrusions, and his kidnapping of Old Deuteronomy. Everything had turned out well, but the Ball seemed to serve as an omen of things to come.

The weather had been unkind, beginning with an unpleasantly hot summer and culminating with the current, difficult winter that left most Jellicles confined to their dens.

Food and warm living space were becoming difficult to obtain, due in large part to the small population boom in the last two years. Victoria and Plato had three kittens to their name now; Alonzo and Cassandra had had two of their own; and of course, there was Mistoffelees and Rum Tum Tugger's wholly accidental but still welcomed addition of seven, now-grown kittens.

And that, Mistoffelees mused with a small pang of sadness, was yet another thing that had made the last year so difficult. He and Tugger liked the idea of kittens, and at the last Jellicle Ball, had finally decided to try for a second litter. He'd conceived at the Ball, only to have a miscarriage three weeks later. Though he'd recovered in body and mind, the incident was still a weight in the back of his heart. Despite everything, he still longed for more kittens.

Lyrette began to fuss gently in Victoria's arms. With a tiny smile, Mistoffelees reached over to rub her belly, soothing her slightly.

"Misto, you've got that look again," Victoria said softly.

"What look?"

"The look that tells me you'd really like another kitten."

Mistoffelees slowly withdrew his hand; Lyrette had fallen back asleep anyway. He hadn't realized his brooding was written on his face. It felt odd to be discussing this with Victoria. Since Victoria's first and his second litter had both been made on the night of the Jellicle Ball, it'd been especially difficult to watch, knowing his own litter was now gone, but he'd welcomed Cygnus and Coloratura into the tribe as warmly as everyone else. They were adorable little things; Coloratura was a white and pale-grey kitten who had more than a bit of glamour and showmanship in her, and Mistoffelees often thought that Demeter was correct in believing that Jellicles returned from the Heaviside Layer as new kittens. There was more than a little of Grizabella in the little one. Cygnus, for his part, was a little ginger ball of giggles and energy. They were adorable kittens. He missed kittens.

He'd almost lapsed into a minor depression when Victoria announced she was expecting a second time, but he'd worked hard to quell the feelings of resentment. Now, all he felt was the occasional pang of regret for something he wanted but did not yet have.

Victoria tentatively continued, "It's obviously something you want. Haven't you and Tugger talked about...?"

"Of course we've talked about it," Mistoffelees sighed. "Some days we'd love to. Other days, I can't get past the thought of going through that again."

"I understand." As if to take the edge off the conversation, Victoria smiled cheekily and added, "You're awfully adorable when you're pregnant, in any case."

"Oh, shut it," Mistoffelees said teasingly. "Remind me to point and laugh when you're expecting again."

"Oh, I doubt that-"

Lyrette suddenly arched and cried out, now awake and upset over some unknown slight. Victoria rocked her lightly and sighed in dismay.

"Come on, kit. I know you're not hungry. What do you want? Your daddy? He'll be home soon!"

"She's probably upset at not being part of the conversation," Mistoffelees said over the wailing.

"My first two were never so fussy!"

The tux chuckled. "And Josephine was always like this. Here, let me try something."

He waved his paw in front of the fussy kitten, halting her cries as she looked at him dubiously. With a tiny flourish, tiny sparks erupted from Mistoffelees' paw, and a second later, a small, bright purple hummingbird flitted out. Lyrette brightened, uttering a pleased mew and batting at the bird as it flew in quick little circles over her head.

Victoria smiled in relief. "Thank the Everlasting Cat that worked. It looks so real! It even smells like a real hummingbird."

"It's just an illusion," Mistoffelees said modestly. "I've been practicing."

Lyrette squirmed happily in Victoria's arms and kept batting at the bird. "If it wasn't so pretty, I'd be tempted to try and eat it."

"Don't," Mistoffelees chuckled. "It's not that real."

Both cats shuddered at the sudden gust of cold wind in the den. As the entrance was covered again, the magic stone took over and bathed the den in heat.

"Argh!" Plato whimpered. He was carrying six small mice and a fine layer of frost on his fur. Dropping the mice, he shook himself off, succeeding only in looking like a drowned rat. "It's so cold out there! I can't feel my tail! Vic, did it break off!?"

Victoria laughed and swatted Plato's proffered backside with her free hand. "Don't point that thing at me."

Plato snickered. "Misto, do you want to check?"

"With pleasure," Mistoffelees said. With a flick of the wrist, the bright purple hummingbird circled in the air and pecked Plato's left buttock.

Plato yelped and fell to his front. "There's a bird in the den! Victoria, there's a bird!"

"I know."

"Eat it, quick!"

"It's not real," Mistoffelees said. He made the hummingbird flitter in front of Plato's face for a few seconds before disappearing in a tiny puff of sparks. Lyrette clapped her tiny paws at the display and reached for her father.

"Hi princess!" Plato said, scooping up his giggling kitten. "Misto, I didn't know you could make birds appear. Can you do the same thing with real food?"

"If I did, I wouldn't have sent Tugger out to hunt today."

"You're welcome to some food. It's not much, but…"

"No, I'm quite all right," Mistoffelees said. He was hungry, but Tugger was a decent hunter, in the sense that he could withstand the cold better than almost everyone else right now. He trusted him to have dinner waiting. "I have to get going."

Mistoffelees nuzzled Victoria and gave Lyrette a quick scratch between the ears before bracing himself to face the bitter winter cold outside the den.

He couldn't stifle a whimper as the wind blew, ruffling his whiskers and fur and making his teeth chatter. The snow, knee-high to him, wasn't helping his creeping exhaustion. He thought about teleporting to the warmth of his and Tugger's den, but shrugged it off as an inefficient idea. He was good at teleporting, but it took a lot of energy, and food and time to rest were luxuries that weren't abundant in this cold snap. He was already beginning to feel the weariness of generating the heated stones all day long. Traipsing from one end of the junkyard to another was a good walk in nice weather; in gale-force wind and whipping snow, it was devilish and exhausting.

He'd started at the South end of the yard, where Jellylorum shared a den with Gus. Protecting the old and frail theatre cat from the cold was a must and Mistoffelees was eager for any chance to help Jellylorum with her duty. Gus was now very old, his fur patchy and matted and his eyes clouded over with a milky film. He didn't seem to take notice of Jellylorum, looking old and weary herself, spooning him a bit of cream, nor did he notice Jezebel, who'd dropped by with blankets. He did repeatedly ask Mistoffelees if he knew where to find an umbrella, because he had to go on stage soon and didn't he know that the princess watching and was very fond of umbrellas, and Mistoffelees could do little more than reassure him that the umbrella would be ready and that it would be a wonderful show. Jellylorum smiled wearily as he left.

He'd stopped in the next den, Alonzo and Cassandra's. They still lived with one of their sons, Serapis, while their other son Verismo now shared a den with one of Mistoffelees and Tugger's own daughters, Tourmaline. It was good to catch them up on news on their kittens, but Mistoffelees cut the visit short, eager to continue.

Pouncival and Bombalurina's den was next, though from the look and scent of things, they hardly needed any heated stones to keep the place warm. He checked in on Coricopat and Tantomile next, though with their limited magic they'd already succeeded in enchanting a candle to heat their den.

That left Mistoffelees with a long walk down a natural stone path, hugging himself against the cold and lamenting, like the mother hen he was, that his and Tugger's seven kittens had all moved out of their communal den.

He walked past a small den with a collapsed roof—his daughter Josephine's—and over to a bigger, sturdier den—his son Cyrano's, who was now grudgingly housing his sister. When Mistoffelees had gone in to prepare a heated stone for them, he'd found the two arguing over the freshness of a recently-caught mouse. Josephine, Tugger's daughter through-and-through in both looks and attitude, fluffed her mane and stomped away to the back of the den, leaving Cyrano to give his father the saddest, most pleading look.

"Are you absolutely certain she can't stay with you and dad until she finds a new den?" Cyrano had begged. "Or with one of the others?"

Mistoffelees had responded with an airy shrug. "You've always been the strong one. You can handle her."

"I'm going to abandon her here and go stay with uncle Munk."

"Sounds great. Promise you'll visit if you're on our side of the yard."

After leaving his two kits with a hot stone and promises that they weren't going to tear each other's fur off, Mistoffelees drew in a strengthening breath and went back into the cold.

On and on he went, making sure to stay extra-long at his kittens' dens. He dropped in on Tourmaline and Verismo, happy to see the two shy young cats were well. Next was his daughter Augusta, who'd struck a very intense friendship with Electra, leading the two to share a den.

A few more dens, a few more heated stones, circling the junkyard until he approached his own home. He stopped in to warmly greet Munkustrap and Demeter and to make sure they were doing well in the harsh cold. He was almost done.

It had been a busy day. Magic was useful, but also draining. He was striking a delicate balance between helping as many as he could, and also caring for himself. Luckily, he only had one more stop before reaching his own den, and it just so happened to belong to his last three kittens.

Even standing at the door, he could hear their voices inside. Pushing open the door sent a gust of wind into the den, replacing the chattering voices with startled shrieks.

"Aargh! More cold!"

"But how can you tell in here?"

"Shut it, you two."

Mistoffelees smiled. Cappella was bent over a plate, concentrating on its contents. Aloysius was sprawled on the ground, chin cupped in his paws and staring at the plate with what Mistoffelees suspected was sarcastic interest. Mandragora, the youngest of the litter, looked bored under her blanket, at least until she noticed their visitor.

"Hey, dad!"

The other two turned to greet him with smiles. Aloysius hopped to his feet while Cappella returned to her plate.

"Everlasting, dad!" Aloysius said, greeting his father with a nuzzle. "You must be freezing."

"Is it cold? I hadn't noticed. I thought it was positively balmy."

"You've gone delirious! There, there."

Aloysius petted his head with a look of mock concern. Bast, when had his son gotten so tall? All of his kittens, in fact, were taller than him, save for Mandragora. But they were grown now, living and hunting on their own. Some, like Tourmaline, had already taken mates.

They were growing too fast. No wonder he was still dreaming of having more kittens.

"Have you been out all day?" Mandragora asked as Mistoffelees came to sit by them. The den was a bit of a mess- exactly what he'd expect from three young cats living on their own for the first time. The tux had to sidestep blankets, teacups, books, baubles and toys until he found a spot clear enough to sit on.

"I'm just heading home now." He looked at Cappella and finally understood what she was doing; there was a smooth stone in the plate, and she was laying her paws flat against it, concentrating, trying to use magic to infuse it with heat. "Cappella, love… do you need help?"

"I got this, dad."

Cappella had Tugger's black-and-gold colouring, but definitely not his figure; where Tugger was slim and lanky, Cappella was distinctly rotund. Mistoffelees wondered if she'd gotten that from his side of the family. She'd certainly been the kitten to inherit the strongest magical abilities.

Though, maybe not strong enough. Once more she concentrated, and Mistoffelees could see and feel the magical energy seeping from her paws, but before the stone could heat, the energy dissipated. He watched, calmly. Insisting would only frustrate her.

"We're going to die in here," Mandragora said, matter-of-factly. "Frozen solid, like rats."

Aloysius fished out a blanket from a nearby pile and wrapped it around his head, putting on a sad air. "You'll remember us, right dad? Tell stories of our heroic deeds?"

"Crawling on our bellies towards an extra blanket, but… well. We never made it."

"Mandra, you'll make sure I freeze in a dignified position, won't you?"

"Naturally. With your arse in the air."

"Thank you!"

"Will you two just shut it already!?"

"I think you two have made your point," Mistoffelees said. He had a sudden flash of memory of holding unruly kittens by their scruffs while they hissed and spat at each other. Back then, their biggest problems involved ownership of toy mice. "Kit, it's a complicated spell. It's okay to ask for help."

Cappella groaned and dropped her paws from the stone. "I almost had it though. I'm sure of it."

"I tried it too," Mandragora said, ignoring the pointed eye-roll Cappella shot her. "I didn't… I mean, it didn't work at all when I tried it."

"Magic can be fickle," Mistoffelees said. It was a diplomatic way of putting it; Mandragora, like Cappella and their brother Cyrano, had shown magical tendencies, but hers were weak. Mandragora herself, on her crankier days, would often consider her abilities "worse than useless" as her magic skills consisted of teleporting small objects like spoons and marbles, but only one-way. Teleporting them back was something she hadn't been able to coordinate. Mistoffelees promised her that magic, like any skill, took time to develop.

He wondered though, if her lackluster skills had to do with her difficult birth and her near-death, something that had left her the smallest of the litter and the only kitten to be shorter than the already-short Mistoffelees. He probably would have teased her about it, if he wasn't keenly aware of being a too-short tom in a world made for tall Jellicles.

"Aw, don't worry Cappella," Aloysius helpfully supplied. "Maybe it's the stone. It does look pretty ugly. Like Mandra's face."

Mandragora nodded sagely at her brother. "Smells as bad as Al, too. It's definitely a bad stone."

"You're both terrible stones," Cappella said. She crossed her arms, but smiled nonetheless. "I just want to try it one last time, okay dad?"

"If you insist," Mistoffelees said. He petted her on the head as he got back up to his feet. He was cold and tired and ready to go home. "But if you don't have heat by dinnertime, come by and stay with us. All right, kittens?"

There was a definite perking of ears and whiskers at the mention of 'dinner', followed by muted nods. Mistoffelees nuzzled his three kittens and braced himself for the last stretch of his journey back to his den.

The snow whipped viciously at his face but the prospect of his warm den being so close made the journey bearable, if only just. He burst into his and Tugger's den with a groan of relief and a hearty shiver, and smiled at the sight before him.

Tugger was lounging, dozing near the bowl of hot stones Mistoffelees set up earlier that day. He'd had a successful hunt, thank the Everlasting Cat; seven large mice and two birds were lying on a cloth off to the side.

Tugger's rump was facing the stones while his limbs were sprawled all about him—ever the careless sleeper. Still, the lanky, supple, powerful body never failed to make Mistoffelees purr in appreciation. Even twisted around in sleep, Tugger's fur was sleek and perfect.

Where Tugger was languid from the heat, Mistoffelees was still frosty and shivering. Funny how the cold made him feel awfully frisky all of a sudden.

Mistoffelees leaned against the wall of their den, cocking his hip and running one paw down his body to smooth out his wind-ruffled fur. Tugger was slim and lanky, whereas Mistoffelees was not. His pregnancies had left him with rounded hips and a rounded rear and a bit of a soft stomach, all things that made him self-conscious when he looked at others' slighter forms. He had to admit that Tugger did an excellent job of reminding him that he was still sexy and attractive.

"Evening, Tugger," Mistoffelees said with a low purr. Still standing by the door, he rolled his hips and swung his tail enticingly.

A low "hm" and a slight shift of Tugger's tail were his reply.

Well. Tugger did a great job of making him feel attractive, when his lazy mate decided to open his eyes.

"Hey, Tugger?"

Still dozing, eyes closed. "Mm-hm?"

"Your mane's on fire!"

Tugger's reaction did not disappoint. He flipped backwards and began to roll on the ground, slapping at his mane. "My mane!! It's burning! It's… not on fire, is it?"

"Nope."

Panting, Tugger dropped to his back and spread his limbs out in relief, staring at Mistoffelees with a look of pathetic betrayal. "That was beastly of you. Why in Bast's name would you do that!?"

Mistoffelees grinned and pushed himself from the doorjamb, crawling on top of Tugger and giving him a long, slow kiss.

"Ah, now I understand," Tugger purred, running his paws up and down the tux's sides until they came to rest on his hips. "Your paws are cold, by the way."

"It's not exactly summer out there," Mistoffelees said. He punctuated his point by snaking his hand down between their bodies and grasping Tugger's crotch.

Tugger shuddered and clutched the black-furred hips beneath his paws. "Aaagh! Yes! Point taken!" He protested, but still he began to slowly rock into Mistoffelees' grasp. "Everyone is doing all right out there? The kits?"

"Most of them are happy and warm. Cappella, Aloysius and Mandra are probably going to show up later."

Tugger nodded and, obviously done with talking, grasped the back of the tux' head and pulled him down.

They kissed again while Mistoffelees threaded his fingers through Tugger's mane, leeching the heat from his already-overheated mate. They moved and rubbed and rocked until they finally broke away from each other's lips, flustered and aroused, not a trace of cold in the den.

"Bedroom?" Mistoffelees asked huskily.

Tugger nodded and playfully growled. "I can't wait to have you. Teleport us, will you?"

Mistoffelees gently cuffed him on the side of the head and leapt to his feet, hurrying to the bedroom with his mate right on his heels. They fell to the top blanket, a soft green fleece, in a tangle of limbs and harsh breaths until Tugger ended up sitting on the bed with a lapful of lustful Mistoffelees.

"Your paws are warm now," Tugger breathed as the tux lapped at his neck.

"Hmm, what about yours?"

"You tell me."

The lapping turned into bite as Mistoffelees clutched a mouthful of mane to stifle his groan. Tugger had gone for his one weakness, rubbing at his chest and firmly rolling his nipples with his thumbs. Tugger's paws were very, very hot indeed.

"Turn around," Tugger growled.

Mistoffelees obeyed, swiftly turning himself around. He knew what Tugger had planned, and in fact he'd barely settled himself back down on Tugger's lap with the rough paws went back to his nipples, rubbing them slowly, wrenching moans and pants from the tux. This was always his undoing, and his undoing was always Tugger's undoing, so it was no surprise when he felt Tugger's member urgently rubbing at his entrance.

Mistoffelees' moaning intensified as they were joined. His head fell back on Tugger's shoulder and he let his mate set the pace, jolting into his small body and caressing his chest until he reached back to grab a paw-full of mane. So close…. "Bite me," he groaned. Tugger obeyed instantly, nuzzling at his scruff and fastening his teeth into the fur, just hard enough for Mistoffelees to yelp and shudder through his orgasm. Tugger followed a few thrusts later, squeezing his mate's hips.

"Great," Mistoffelees panted as they fell back to the blankets. "Now it's too hot."

"I'll show you how hot it can get," Tugger said, snapping his teeth and rolling on top of his mate.

They weren't done—not nearly. With the den warm and with food available for the day at least, they could freely turn to their favourite pastime: sex, and lots of it.

They kissed, until Tugger's head suddenly popped up, ears twitching on confusion. "Did it just get colder in here?"

Mistoffelees frowned. It did feel drafty all of a sudden. "Maybe the stones-"

"Oi! Dads? Are you in here?"

It was Mandragora. She scrabbled through the den and paused just outside their bedroom entrance.

"Yes?" Mistoffelees sighed, as Tugger resignedly grabbed a spare blanket and tossed it over them. It was no use to scramble to hide what they'd been doing; it would be obvious by scent anyway. "Mandra, what is it?"

"Bloody Cappella. She can't figure out the stone trick and I'm tired of freezing my arse off in the den. Can I stay here?"

"Only if you watch your language," Tugger called out.

"I'll stay in the old room," Mandragora coolly said. "Don't let me interrupt you two."

"You're not interrupt-" Mistoffelees began, then shook his head. "Just wait out there, we'll be right out."

"You said they'd be here later," Tugger groused. He crossed his arms but made no move to get up, or to clean up.

"I didn't think-" Another gust of cold air interrupted Mistoffelees' thoughts.

"Heat! Blessed heat! I'd forgotten what it feels like. Oh hey, Mandra! Are they here?"

Now Aloysius. And minutes later, another burst of cold wind as the den's door opened, and a third voice joined the chorus in the main area.

"Okay dad, you were right," Cappella sighed. "The stone magic is hard. Can we stay here until I figure it out? Wait, where are they?"

"In their room, being tender," Mandragora said matter-of-factly.

"The little beasts," Tugger said, kicking off the blanket so he could at least begin to clean up. "I hate it when she calls it that."

Amused, Mistoffelees slid off the bed. "We'll be right there, kittens," he called out.

He pulled the despondent-looking Tugger down into a kiss, laughing as he did so. Yes, it was going to be a long winter.

Chapter Text

Though winter still had a firm grip on London, a rare and most welcome midwinter warm snap brought a temporary end to the constant snowfalls and bitingly cold winds. The snow blanketing the junkyard relented and began to melt, turning itself into heavy and sticky slush ideal for snowballs and building snow piles, to the kittens' delight. While no one expected an early spring, more than a few Jellicles were thanking the Everlasting Cat for the temporary break in brutal temperature.

More than a few cats had emerged from their dens to enjoy some much-needed fresh air. Mistoffelees in particular was glad to breathe in cool air and recover his energy, after weeks of maintaining the magically-warmed stones for everyone's dens.

Tugger had been more than happy to bolt out of their den and into the agreeable weather earlier that night; despite the break in cold, their kittens Cappella, Aloysius and Mandragora were still hanging about their parents' den.

It had been about a week, and Mistoffelees wondered if they'd simply forgotten they had a den of their own. They were bigger, louder, and even messier than they'd been as kittens. He loved his now-grown kittens. He also loved his freedom, his formerly-clean den, and his privacy, especially with his mate. If he'd had more energy, he probably would have bolted after Tugger.

Instead, he lazed on the large tire in the centre of the junkyard, enjoyed the fresh air and the clear, early-dawn sky. He'd managed to drag all three kittens out of the den, and while Cappella and Aloysius decided to wander off to find food, a bored Mandragora decided to follow her father.

Seemingly, only to complain to an audience. "I'm cold," she sighed, idly kicking at a tuft of snow. "There isn't much to do here, is there? Why can't I go back inside?"

"Because you need fresh air. And you're not cold." She was short and small like Mistoffelees, but the fluffy white mane inherited from her other father kept her more than warm.

A welcome opportunity appeared in the form of Jenny and Jezebel, happily chattering to one another as they padded through the wet snow, while Skimbleshanks sullenly followed behind.

"Well, look who it is!" Jenny chirped. "Mistoffelees and Mandragora! Finally, some friendly faces who aren't frightened of a little cold."

"That's exactly what I was telling my dear kitten here," Mistoffelees said. He smiled devilishly as a sudden thought came to mind. "And how fortuitous that you happened to walk by! Mandragora was telling me that she's simply dying for a singing lesson."

Mandragora attempted to shoot her father a venomous look, only to be interrupted as Jezebel practically teleported into her face. "Is that right? Well you know you only need ask! It's about time you decided to work on those reedy pipes of yours!"

"My… my what?"

"Let's begin with some basics!" Jenny said.

Mistoffelees relaxed on the cool rubber and gave the crestfallen Mandragora a cheeky smile as Jenny and Jezebel descended on her, thrilled for something to do at last.

A frosty and despondent-looking Skimble stood shivering close by, evidently not as pleased with the weather as the nearby queens. Mistoffelees didn't miss the rather generous sips of scotch he kept sneaking from his vest pocket.

"'Come out for a healthy walk with me, Skimble dear'," he muttered, mimicking Jenny's voice with a broguish falsetto. "'The odds are good that you'll not die of exquisite and excruciating frostbite, Skimble dear!'"

"A little cold air is good for the constitution, Skimble dear!" Jenny harrumphed, momentarily diverting her attention from nudging Mandragora into singing her scales.

"My constitution was just fine inside our nice warm den, Jenny dear."

"No, from the belly, little one," Jezebel said. She tapped Mandragora's black-furred stomach and almost knocked her off her feet. "If you want to hit high C, you need to bring your voice out from deep inside! Now try it!"

"You know, I think the air is a bit too cold to sing," Mandragora said demurely.

"Nonsense! Singing carries very well over snow! Now reach deep inside!"

Mistoffelees shrugged innocently as his daughter looked to him for help. "Even deeper," he called out, smiling uncontrollably. "Try singing from your feet."

"Dad, haven't you done enough damage for one day?"

"I will help you when you help clean up the mess you left after breakfast."

"Adjust your posture," Jezebel said, oblivious to the fact that her singing lesson was in fact being used as punishment. Jenny, in agreement with the posture advice, quickly tugged the small black queen's tail to straighten her spine.

Jezebel's next instruction was drowned out by a shrill, angry voice closing in on the clearing. "…. You arse-faced idiot! Don't you run away when I'm yelling at you!"

Mistoffelees winced. Now there was one of his kittens who didn't need any help hitting high C.

Cyrano marched ahead, ears flat on his head and features pinched with misery. Trailing close behind him, stomping with as much dignity as the still-high snow permitted, was Josephine.

"Dad!" she yelled. Cyrano followed with a low, pleading "Dad!" of his own.

He missed the days when he could pick up both by their scruffs and easily separate them. "What's the trouble, kits?"

"My tosser of a brother! He bit me!"

Mistoffelees quirked his brow. "Cyrano…?"

"Everlasting, I did not bite you!"

"You snapped at me! With your teeth!"

"I was standing three bloody yards away from you!"

"The idea was there! It still hurt!"

"You are utterly insane!"

"What's insane is that your first thought was to march here and tattle on each other like bloody kittens," Mandragora said with a snort.

"Shut it, Mandra," Josephine grumbled.

"All right, I see the trouble here," Jezebel said imperiously. She grabbed a fistful of Josephine's scruff. "Some terribly hot heads need to be cooled. A walk is in order."

Josephine bristled. "Jezebel, you're spoiling my mane-"

"Oh, pish-tush. Don't be concerned about maintaining your dignity around me, little one. I helped wipe your arse when you were a kitten. Now come! Mandragora, walk with us, we'll continue our lesson."

"But I-! Uh…"

"Go, kit, don't disappoint your teacher," Mistoffelees said with a wicked little wink.

"Tea at my den later, Jezebel!" Jenny called out. "I'm going to stay here and tend to my poor frozen Skimble."

She laughed as she wrapped her arms around her mate, and he made a great show of shivering and cuddling for warmth.

With his sister out of sight, Cyrano groaned and leapt onto the tire to sit next to his father. "Dad… I love her, but she needs to find a new den. Can't she stay with Bombalurina? They get along. Or with you?"

"I would help, but we're already playing host to some unexpected visitors," Mistoffelees said. He straightened himself up from his lounging position, a little self-conscious next to his so-very-tall son. The kit was almost as tall as Tugger, and solidly built all over thanks to frequent outings with his uncle Munkustrap.

Mistoffelees' gaze drifted over toward the sound of careful footfalls approaching the clearing. Speak of the devil, there was Munkustrap now, trudging through the snow with Alonzo at his side.

"All I did was take back one of my blankets!" Cyrano said. "I've only got three."

"I think you're both at the end of your patience. The weather's kept us all cooped inside for much too long."

"But Josephine and I aren't meant to live together. I don't hear dad complaining that you've tried to bite him."

"Because Tugger wouldn't complain about that," Skimble quipped, earning a snorting titter from Jenny.

"I'll get Tugger to talk to her later." Josephine worshipped her other father. Tugger could at least get her to calm down and be kind for a few days. Hopefully, until the damned snowed melted.

"Thanks, dad," Cyrano said. He waved a quick greeting at Munkustrap and Alonzo, who seemed intent on walking on through, all business.

Naturally, this gave Mistoffelees a devilish idea. "Cyrano, why don't we have a little fun?"

"What are you thinking?"

Mistoffelees scooped a handful of wet, heavy snow from the tire and quickly pressed it into a snowball. He wasted no time in hurling it at Munkustrap's turned back.

The snow hit the tabby on the back of the neck. A little affronted, Munkustrap quickly whirled around to see who had opened fire.

"Cyrano!" Mistoffelees gasped, turning to his son and clasping a dramatic paw to his chest. "How dare you throw a snowball at your uncle Munk? Were you raised by pollicles?"

"What? I-I didn't…!"

Munkustrap shook the snow off his head and tsk-tsked as he gathered up a scoopful of snow. "I'm very disappointed in you, Cyrano."

A splatter of snow suddenly covered Mistoffelees' face, quelling his laughter at Cyrano's expression. Stunned, he shook the snow from his eyes to see Munkustrap shrugging airily, a second snowball ready to go.

"I also have terrible aim."

Grinning and spitting out a clump of snow, Mistoffelees leapt to his feet, dragging his son up with him. "It's a matter of honour now!"

He quickly grabbed a handful of snow, not even bothering with rolling it into a snowball, hurtling the slushy stuff at Munkustrap's chest and tossing a second volley at Alonzo, for good measure.

Alonzo yelped, crouching down, and rose up with two snowballs. "I'll take care of the little one, Munk!"

There was a brief moment of confusion about whether the 'little one' was Cyrano or Mistoffelees, until Munkustrap yelped as a snowball struck him in the buttocks. Jenny stood as few yards away, her paws caked in snow and a maniacal grin on her features. "Skimble! How could you do that to our dear Munkustrap!"

Skimble blinked. "Oh, it's quite easy. Just as easy as doing this!"

A second later, Jenny was on her back in the snow, tittering like a kitten while Skimble attempted to bury her.

A chaos of snow, slush, and yelps erupted. By the time Mistoffelees jumped and rolled off the tire, Cyrano was engaged in a fierce back-and-forth snowball volley with Alonzo while Jenny had somehow managed to throw Skimble off, and was now stuffing large handfuls of snow down the back of his vest. The wind shifted abruptly and a stray snowball from the Cyrano-Alonzo fight made Munkustrap duck, giving Mistoffelees an opportunity to jump on the distracted tabby's back and wrestle him to the ground.

"Argh! Misto-!" He spat as the tux dumped an armful of snow in his face, straddling his chest to prevent him from fighting back. Mistoffelees giggled; he was fully expecting Munkustrap to throw him off and return the attack any moment now, but even getting a mouthful of snow was a refreshing change from being cooped up inside for so long.

Munkustrap had just managed to bring up a paw to stop Mistoffelees from stuffing another clump of snow in his face when the wind changed again. Mistoffelees paused and stopped wrestling, giving the tabby the opportunity to flip him to the ground.

Mistoffelees wheezed briefly as the wind was knocked out of him and Munkustrap used his body weight to pin him tightly, scooping up a snowball.

He pressed a paw to the tabby's chest. "Wait, Munk…"

It could have been a trick to stop the snow fight, but to his credit Munkustrap stopped. He blew a speck of snow from his whisker and asked, "Did I hurt you?"

"No, something doesn't smell right. Do you-?"

And Munkustrap did, flicking his ears and raising his face into the wind. "It smells like smoke, doesn't it?"

He raised himself off Mistoffelees and helped the smaller tom to his feet. Cyrano and Alonzo seemed to catch that the snowball fight was over. "Munk, what's wrong?" Alonzo asked.

"Oh dear," Jenny said. She rolled off Skimble's back and twitched her nose, staring in the same direction as Mistoffelees and Munkustrap. There was nothing to be seen over the junk piles, but the scent was getting strong. "There's something bad on the wind."

"Dad?"

No, something definitely wasn't right. On instinct Mistoffelees went to his son, still attuned to the wind. His back twitched violently as sudden anxiety made his magic whirl and buzz inside his head. He deeply wished all seven of his kittens were here, where he could see them. Something was deeply wrong.

"It's smoke," Munkustrap said grimly. "It's definitely smoke. Alonzo, we need to find out where-"

"Fire!"

Three frantic voices came barreling within earshot, all screaming the same terrifying word: fire.

With a clang and a clatter and a scream and some sobs, Electra, Augusta and Etcetera ran to the group, skidding to a halt and pointing back toward the direction they'd come from.

"F-fire!" Etcetera shrieked.

"What happened?" Munkustrap asked. He looked to each of them and decided Electra looked the most coherent. "Did you set a fire-?"

"No!" Electra said, shaking her head. "The junkyard is on fire, Munkustrap!"

Mistoffelees went to Augusta, holding her by the shoulders and looking her up and down quickly. She was out of breath and tense, but not hurt. "Where? How did it start?"

"South side, the whole fence is going up!" Augusta said with a gasp. "We were climbing near the trucks and next thing we know, there's smoke and flames everywhere. We didn't set it, dad! I don't know how it started."

Munkustrap was tense on his feet, tail whipping in agitation. He was staring in the direction of the fire, at the grey smoke that began spilling over the top of the junk piles. They had no contingency plan for fire. There was nothing a tribe of small Jellicles could do to stop a blaze; at best, they could hope a human would walk by the junkyard, spot the flames, and call the fire brigade.

Mistoffelees could tell what Munkustrap was thinking: trying to pinpoint exactly how the fire was spreading, whose dens were nearby and who would be in danger, and—grimmest of all—whether it was time to evacuate the junkyard before the entire place burned to the ground.

Where would they go? It was still winter and they had kittens and elderly cats among them and—

Mistoffelees came to the realization the same moment Munkustrap did. "Gus and Jellylorum!" Munkustrap yelled. "They live right in the south area."

"Cassandra!" Alonzo gasped. His den was in the same area. "We need to get everyone out."

He began to run before Munkustrap could stop him. "Jenny, Skimble," the tabby said. "Gather everyone towards the north side of the junkyard. Don't go towards the fire! I'll send everyone over to you. Keep everyone safe. Once everyone is accounted for, we can start moving towards my father's den at the vicarage-"

As Munkustrap delivered his instructions, Mistoffelees still held his daughter's shoulders as he stared at the growing cloud of smoke. He hadn't practiced much magic with fire—it had too many negative connotations for him. But at its core, fire was heat and energy, and of late he'd become quite the expert at manipulating heat. Charging a stone with heat was complex and exhausting, but he knew how to do it. Could he do the same, in reverse?

"Munk," Mistoffelees said. Jenny had come to pull Etcetera and Electra away to safety, and he gently nudged Augusta towards her too. "I think I can stop the fire. I'd need to go now, though."

It was a testament to Munkustrap's trust in him that his only reply was a terse nod and a, "How can we help you?"

"Just keep evacuating everyone in case I'm not as smart as I thought."

With the plan in place, Jenny began to herd the younger cats away while Munkustrap ran full-tilt towards the fire. Augusta struggled away and grabbed her brother by the arm, marching up before Mistoffelees had a chance to start running for the fire.

"Dad, we can help," she said. "Cyrano and I have been training with uncle Munk and-"

"No! Under no circumstances are you two to follow me, understand?"

"But dad," Cyrano said. "We can help evacuate! Alonzo and uncle Munk will need help."

"You will not come near that fire," Mistoffelees said, roughly shoving them both back towards Jenny. "You will stay with the group and keep everyone calm and safe, understand? We don't know what's going to happen and we may need someone to lead us to the vicarage, all right?"

They both nodded reluctantly. Mistoffelees only waited long enough to lock eyes with Jenny and note her silent assurance that his kits would be safe before he turned back in the direction of the roiling smoke, clenched his paws, and teleported away.

Chapter Text

Teleporting was dangerous without knowing the exact spread of the fire, but Mistoffelees was not a fast runner under the best of circumstances and the snow only slowed him down. He opted to teleport close to a pile of rusted trucks; he knew that area, and from afar it seemed clear of smoke.

When he rematerialized, the sudden shock of heat and smoke made him gasp and fall to the ground, instinctively seeking the fresher air on lower levels. All right, so he'd misjudged the extent of the blaze. That, or this fire was spreading quickly and devastatingly.

He shook the snow from his face and chanced a peek at the inferno. The fence surrounding the southernmost corner of the junkyard was made of old rotten wood, and was completely engulfed in fire. The tall flames licked at the sky, bounced on the surrounding materials, and spread whenever they found something eagerly flammable. An old bookcase propped against a rusted truck cracked loudly, startling Mistoffelees, and collapsed to the snow. The fire had spread to the interior of the truck, burning the material of the seats with black, stinking smoke.

Mistoffelees' eyes stung as he blinked against the smoke. The actual flames weren't that close to him—he was maybe a good twenty yards away—but the heat was stifling. The snow around the main fire had completely melted and he could feel the snow beneath him slowly turn to slush.

He had to move. And fast.

Mistoffelees pressed his face as low to the ground as he could, enjoyed the feel of coldness for one last second, and drew in the deepest breath he could manage before leaping to his feet.

He focused on the burning truck first, extending his paws, trying to get a feel for the energy of the fire. It was wild and crackling, not at all like the gentle heat he'd learned to manipulate into the stones, and for a moment he feared he'd made a terrible mistake by thinking he could handle this.

No. No, no, he had to relax, and think. He couldn't gently manipulate the energy, but it was still just energy. All magic was simply energy at its core, and his skills involved seeing beyond the restrictions of the physical and visible world to understand how to move that energy around.

All the heat energy from the fire had to go somewhere. Mistoffelees clenched his paws, giving in to a hacking cough as the wind shifted and the smoke bit at his face. He recovered, focused on the fire, looked beyond the crackling flames and at the core energy.

He couldn't snuff it out, but he could change it. He could transfigure the fire. He concentrated, calling forth the energy he knew best how to manipulate, and opened his mouth in a small cry as lightning shot from his paws and into the truck.

The resulting explosion knocked him on his rear. He landed with a splash into the melting snow, shaking his head to clear it. Before him, the truck had burst in half from the force of the explosion, but the fire was out. The smoke quickly dissipated into the early-dawn sky.

Mistoffelees giggled like a kitten, relieved and overjoyed and filled with a sudden cheerful adrenaline. He could put out the fire!

Scrambling to get up in the thick wet snow, he climbed past the blown-up truck and pondered his next move. A pile of junked objects, now unidentifiable and long turned to blackened scrap, was still aflame and dangerously close to other flammable piles. Standing on an intact, hollowed car, Mistoffelees raised his paws, focused on the energy beyond the fire, and again, morphed it into lightning.

The junk pile exploded. This time, Mistoffelees knew to brace himself, planting his paws firmly against the metal of the car as the force of the explosion knocked him back a few inches. Shrapnel struck him, bits of scrap and burnt embers. One still-smoldering piece of wood knocked against the back of his wrist; he hissed and shook his paw, wincing at the feel of singed fur and burnt skin.

All right. Focus. The fire was out on the junk pile, but the roaring flames were still attacking the wooden fence. He had to concentrate on that next, or else the fire would continue to spread all around the junkyard.

Jumping down from the car, Mistoffelees leapt as close as he could to the burning fence. The smoke whipped at his face, and he couldn't stifle a harsh cough, clasping his paws over his nose and mouth to avoid drawing in a lungful of smoke.

When he was reasonably certain he could breathe again, he focused on a section of the burning fence, locked his paws into position, and braced himself as an explosion of lightning blew the fence apart. A five-yard section of wood was gone. Again, the fire was gone too.

He was going to destroy the fence, there was no way around that, but the fire would have done the job all the same. Mistoffelees lowered his paws and shook wooden splinters out of his fur. He was becoming exhausted. He was terribly thirsty too and thought about throwing himself down to the snow to drink, but a moment of hesitation could mean the fire spreading again.

Blam. Another section of fence. Blam. An old bureau went up, and he extinguished the fire before it could spread to neighbouring junk.

Every blast left him fuzzy-headed and parched, but still he pressed on. The air was clearing, the crackles and sizzles of the fire ebbing away.

The next section of fence that needed his attention did not have a clear area in front of it. Gathering his strength, Mistoffelees quickly clambered up a stack of crates, uncomfortably close to the heat of the fire, but as good a shot as he was going to get. Focus, energy, lightning.

He was too close, and too tired to remember to brace himself. The explosion blew the fence apart and knocked some of the crates away, leaving Mistoffelees to teeter dangerously for a few seconds before crashing to the ground.

He landed with a hard splatter on the melting snow, rolling over his ankle and taking the impact with his right hip. He managed a pained groan before gathering enough wits to roll away before one of the crates came smashing down after him.

"Everlasting! Did the fire explode?"

He knew that voice, though it was raspy from exposure to smoke. Rolling over onto his stomach, Mistoffelees blinked at the haze of smoke and spotted the tom that was frantically approaching. "Alonzo? Why are you here?"

"Munk asked me to see if you were all right," Alonzo said. He coughed and dropped down to the ground beside Mistoffelees, rubbing his reddened and watery eyes. "I didn't know fire could do that! Are you hurt?"

"I'll be all right." With Alonzo's help, he struggled to his feet, more sluggish from the strain of magic than from injuries, although his hip and ankle were going to be sore for a while. "The fire's not exploding, that's me. I'm putting it out, bit by bit. Help me over there."

He pointed to the next section of the fence. Alonzo obliged and supported him as they limped to the fence. Mistoffelees quickly informed Alonzo to shield himself from the explosion as he worked his magic.

The deed done, Alonzo brushed off bits of smoking wood from his fur and, "That's an unusual way of putting out a fire!"

"It's the only way I know," Mistoffelees said. He surveyed the fence; the last blast had taken out a seven-yard section of it and the fire seemed to be out. Smoke still plumed from within the junkyard and he needed to focus on those next.

The first den he saw was Gus and Jellylorum's. The fire had reduced it to a pile of smoldering embers. He debated whether to use his magic to put out what was left but he decided against it. The fire wasn't spreading from there. The home was already ruined.

"Did they get out in time?" Mistoffelees asked quietly.

Alonzo nodded briskly, still holding his arm for support as they hurried down a natural path of stone. "Munkustrap got them out. Just in time, too. The place collapsed as they were running away. Munk got himself a face-full of smoke for his troubles, too. Poor Gus; he didn't understand what was going on and kept trying to go back inside for his lute, he kept saying. Munk had to carry him away."

"What about—oh," Mistoffelees quietly said.

Alonzo heaved a sigh as they approached the smoking remains of his den. It too had collapsed. "Yeah. Cassandra wasn't in the den, thank the Everlasting Cat. Everything we had was in there, though."

Mistoffelees gave him a quick, sympathetic squeeze of the arm. Shelter was only shelter and things were only things, but it had to sting to lose a den full of memories. Of course, if they didn't hurry, no one in the junkyard would have a den of memories left.

"I can't see anything through this smoke," Alonzo said, stifling a cough and rubbing at his eyes. "I just hope Cassandra is somewhere safe."

"She is. She's smart; she found a safe place to be."

"I hope the kits are-"

"Focus," Mistoffelees tersely said. Everlasting, if he let himself worry about his or anyone else's kits now, he'd be too frantic to finish the job. They were fine. Tugger would make sure of it. He had to trust.

They pressed on, but the urgency was reduced as it became clear the worst of the fire was over. Mistoffelees stopped twice to extinguish burning piles of scrap and junk, and pausing to note that Bombalurina and Pounvical's den hadn't escaped either. He did manage to salvage most of Coricopat and Tantomile's den, though he still had to blow a hole in the roof to put out the fire.

It was only after they'd walked a bit, with Mistoffelees heavily leaning on Alonzo, that they could say the fire was out. The air was still thick with smoke and the stink of burnt things, but the fire itself was gone. The junkyard was safe. Mistoffelees all but collapsed against Alonzo, utterly drained. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever used so much magic in so little time. His head hurt, his hip hurt, and all he wanted was to see his family, drink some water, and lie down.

"Easy now," Alonzo said, looping an arm around Mistoffelees' back.

"North side," Mistoffelees murmured. "Let's go make sure everyone is safe."

It was a slow walk through melted snow, slurping footfalls echoing in the eerily empty junkyard. The smoke cleared as they left the south side and for the first time since the crisis began, Mistoffelees felt a small twinge of uncertainty about this sudden, mysterious fire. A natural fire was rare in the middle of winter, and unless one of the Jellicles had accidentally set it…

The din of voices, cries, and coughs became louder as Mistoffelees and Alonzo approached the north side of the junkyard. As instructed, everyone had gathered to the safest spot and huddled together, turning and pointing and exclaiming as they spotted the two new arrivals.

Mistoffelees blinked quickly as he scanned the crowed. Victoria was on the very edge of the crowd, holding a crying Lyrette in her arms, and looking immensely relieved to see him. Plato was at her side, holding their other two frightened kittens.

Just beyond Plato's shoulder, Mistoffelees could see Cappella's worried face peeking through, and he mentally ticked off one name. Another quick scan of the crowd and he spotted Tourmaline, standing close to Verismo and Cassandra, who broke away to come nuzzle Alonzo.

Cappella and Tourmaline were safe. Alonzo gently let go of Mistoffelees as Cyrano ran to his father, helping to support him. That made three of his kittens safe.

"Dad, are you hurt?" Cyrano asked.

Mistoffelees shook his head. There was a hacking cough in the distance and he sympathized; the smoke had left him raw too. "Just thirsty. Nothing serious. The fire's out, we don't have to leave."

It was Etcetera who squealed in joy and quickly passed on the news, her voice carrying above the throng. "The fire's out! Thank the Everlasting Cat, we're safe!" The news was shouted and passed on and the worried murmurs of the crowd turned to relieved cheers.

"Is everyone here?" Mistoffelees asked, swallowing dryly as his son led him to a spot near the edge of the northern fence.

Gus had been seated there, Jellylorum on one side looking quite flustered and Skimble on the other, talking animatedly. Mistoffelees wondered if they were trying to keep the confused old cat calm and distracted from the crisis.

A loud, barking cough made Mistoffelees jump. It had come from Munkustrap, who was shakily perched on all fours in the snow, hacking and coughing while Jenny stood vigil over him with a cup of water.

Demeter, standing quietly nearby, came over to help settle Mistoffelees on a wooden pallet, giving him a quick nuzzle in the process. Augusta was hovering nearby, keeping an eye on her uncle Munk. Four of his kittens were safe.

"Is he all right?" Mistoffelees asked, wincing as Munkustrap retched and brought up black phlegm onto the snow.

"He breathed in a lot of smoke," Demeter said grimly. "Jenny says he just needs to cough it out."

"Is that—Misto!" It was Tugger, pushing and shoving his way through the crowd, Aloysius right behind him. Five kittens safe, and now Tugger. Mistoffelees relaxed a tiny bit on the pallet, shifting a bit until he'd found a position that didn't hurt his hip too much.

Tugger embraced him quickly, but he was stiff and tense. "Are you all right?"

"A bit sore, but the fire's out," Mistoffelees said. Cyrano pressed a small bowl of water into his hands and the tux took a long drink before asking, "Is everyone here?"

With Munkustrap indisposed, Demeter was now leading things. She didn't bother looking at the crowd before answering; she'd clearly already taken a mental tally of all the Jellicles present. "Rumpleteazer and Mungojerrie weren't found, but a few seem to think they've been in Victoria Grove."

Mistoffelees nodded and rubbed at his eyes. They were still dry and sore from the smoke. "All the kits are here, right? Tugger?"

Tugger's mouth pressed into a hard line. He exchanged a quick, frightened look with Demeter. "I thought—I mean, I assumed you were going to come back with-"

"With what? With who?" Mistoffelees leapt to his feet, numb to his aches and pains. "All our kittens are here, right Tugger? Who's missing?"

"We can't find Jezebel," Demeter said. "And we can't find-"

A shrill, terrified scream cut her off. Mistoffelees' head whipped towards the sound, flooded with both dread and relief at the familiarity of the voice. He grabbed Tugger's arm and they propelled their way through the crowd as the cries drew closer.

It wasn't a single scream, but a string of incoherent cries. When Mistoffelees pushed his way to the front of the crowd, he froze in horror at the sight.

Josephine stumbled through the snow. Her calico fur was matted with blood, her face thoroughly soaked as she sobbed her way towards her father, falling to her knees in front of Mistoffelees.

"Josephine, what happened? Where are you hurt?"

Josephine could only shake her head, eyes wild as she sobbed and heaved. "I tried…" she said in a strangled gasp. "I tried, I tried! I swear I tried!"

Tugger caught her by the arms. "Tried what? Josephine!"

"Mandra," Mistoffelees said. A cold, sick feeling crept into his stomach. Jezebel was missing, and the three of them had gone off together just before the fire started. "Mandra and Jezebel… Josephine, where are they? Whose blood is this?"

The queen could only sob, shaking her head. She pointed with a wildly shaking finger in the direction from which she'd stumbled. It was the south side of the junkyard, where the fire had started. Had they been injured in the fire? "I tried…!"

The crowd of Jellicles had gathered around them, collectively dumbstruck at how to proceed. Bombalurina gave Tugger a quick shove and took the trembling Josephine from his arms. "Go see what's going on. I've got her."

"Tugger, come on," Mistoffelees said, grabbing Tugger's arm.

It was a gamble to try teleporting when he was already so drained, but Mistoffelees was counting on the leftover adrenaline to propel him through this hopefully final expense of magic.

In his head he conjured an image of the south side area, sank his claws into Tugger's arm, and teleported the two away.

They reappeared on top of slushy snow in the middle of still-hazy air. Mistoffelees swayed on his feet, dizzy and queasy. He reached for Tugger to steady himself but his mate, his mind only on his kittens, had already leapt out of reach to search the area.

It didn't take him long to cry out. "There's blood! Everlasting Cat! Mandragora? Jezebel!"

Mistoffelees blinked. There was blood on the snow, blood that hadn't been there less than twenty minutes ago. Weak, rosy splatters against the snow. Blood that had been shaken off Josephine's fur.

Tugger found a trail and was following it, following the faint splatters toward what was left of the now-burnt fence, and beyond the limits of the junkyard.

Cold, creeping dread washed over Mistoffelees as he dizzily forced himself to put one paw in front of the other and follow Tugger and the trail of blood outside the junkyard. There shouldn't be blood. Fire burned, but it didn't make one bleed. The pieces were starting to fall into place—the sudden, unnatural fire, the unexpected blood—and then, a few paces ahead of him beyond the charred remains of the fence, Tugger screamed.

"No, no! Bast, damn it, no!"

The scream ended in a gag as Mistoffelees approached. There was no way to miss what had made Tugger cry out.

There was the body of a Jellicle in the disturbed snow, with limbs sprawled out like a broken toy and torn and bloodied fur. No breath, no moan, no sign of life. The snow was thick with the blood that had long since stopped spilling.

"Jezebel," Mistoffelees whispered.

He took a few steps towards the dead queen, careful not to step in the shockingly large puddle of slushy blood. Her throat had been viciously slashed. She had a look of rage on her frozen face and unseeing eyes. The paw sprawled above her head had broken claws, blood and fur stuck between her fingers.

Whatever had happened here, she'd fought back. She'd fought to the death.

"What happened?" Tugger said. He was pacing, a few steps out into the blank snow and a few steps back towards the dead Jezebel. "What the bloody hell happened? Was Mandra here? Misto!"

"Mandra was with her," Mistoffelees quietly said. There was a scent to the area, faint enough but strong enough for him to know that he was meant to smell it.

He could smell Jezebel's blood, and some of Josephine's, and some of scent that belonged to Mandragora, but it was faint. She hadn't bled here. She hadn't been injured. That wasn't part of the plan.

No, the scent underlying the scene told him everything: it was the smell of magic, cold, dark familiar magic. The kind of magic that casually set fires and influenced others into killing.

And all of a sudden, everything fell into place, the haze lifting over the answer that Mistoffelees had known all along, but had refused to acknowledge.

Sudden, vicious fire. The lasting stink of magic. One Jellicle cut down in cold blood, and another—his daughter- kidnapped.

Mistoffelees growled. "Macavity."

Chapter Text

"Let me go!"

"Tugger, wait!"

"I'm going to kill him!"

"Tugger, for Everlasting's sake, will you wait?"

"He has Mandra. He has our kitten, Misto! I'm not about to do any waiting! What do you expect?"

Tugger managed twenty paces away from the horrid scene of Jezebel's dead body before Misto managed to catch up, limping from his injuries and still exhausted from his efforts to stop the fire. He grabbed his mate's arm and was promptly shaken off, nearly pitching to the ground. Tugger could be awfully rough when single-mindedly focused on his kittens.

"I expect you to stop and think," Mistoffelees called out as the other cat continued to march ahead. "Tugger! What are you planning to do exactly?"

"I'm going to kill him and get our daughter back."

"This is Macavity we're talking about. How do you expect to fight him? Think for a moment, what happened last time?"

That got Tugger's attention. He stopped short and kicked up snow as he whirled to face Mistoffelees. "We got you back, that's what happened!"

"You got me back because somehow, by the skin of my teeth, I managed to stun Macavity long enough for me and Demeter to escape. We can't march in and attack, Tugger. We'll get ourselves and Mandra killed."

He spoke evenly, but all Mistoffelees could do was focus on the reasonableness of his words to stave off his own panic, and hopefully Tugger's as well. His mate was strong, but not nearly strong enough to fight someone like Macavity. He had neither the muscle nor the magic to defeat someone so strong.

Tugger fidgeted on his feet, looking towards Elmsmere Way and back to the edge of the junkyard, where—Everlasting—Jezebel's body was still crumpled. At once the anger drained from his face and body, ears flattening miserably as his expression became one of pained resignation.

"But why Mandra?" Tugger croaked. "What could he possibly want with a kitten…?"

Macavity. Macavity, who two years ago, had kidnapped him and Demeter and threatened to kill his unborn kittens so Mistoffelees could attempt to conceive magical kittens for the Hidden Paw's legacy. Once back safe in the junkyard and Mistoffelees' kittens born, they'd agreed to keep the demand secret. No one but the two of them knew what Macavity had wanted. Tugger had seemed completely unwilling to discuss the time his mate spent in captivity, and that suited Mistoffelees just fine. His kittens didn't even know who Macavity was or what had happened to their father and aunt Demeter. They had no clue they were born in a panic outside the junkyard. They'd never needed to know any of these things.

Mistoffelees had assumed the matter was over and done, but… he thought back to those horrible few days, so long ago, locked in Macavity's basement, terrified of the Hidden Paw's intentions and worried for the safety of his unborn kittens. He remembered the dead stillness of Elmsmere Way, the cold of that basement, how it stank, the brutality of the henchcats.

He thought of it all, and sank to his knees, achy and exhausted and emotionally crushed. His daughter, his sweet harmless daughter, was now in Macavity's stinking den in Elmsmere Way. Maybe the henchcats were touching her. No! If she was hurt…

"He might…" Tugger began, walking back to his mate. "He might want to… to do her harm. It's probably revenge he wants."

Mistoffelees shook his head. Tugger had painfully avoided saying "kill", but at the very least, Mistoffelees knew that wasn't the immediate threat. "He won't kill Mandra. He never planned to kill her, or else she'd be right here next to-" He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to glance at Jezebel's body. "No, Macavity needs her alive."

"But why?"

"He needs her for leverage because he needs something from me."

Tugger's tail whipped. "What does he want from you? Your magic?"

Mistoffelees' head swam. He had to think, he had to plan what to do next, but panic and exhaustion fogged up his mind.

A sudden cry made him and Tugger jump. "Jezebel!"

It was Demeter. She'd come to help and was now stopped in her tracks by the scorched remains of the fence, staring in horror at the deceased queen in the snow.

"Jezebel, no!" she screamed again. She caught Mistoffelees' eye. "What the hell happened!?"

"Don't let…" Mistoffelees began, weakly waving a paw in the direction of the junkyard behind her. He stopped to catch his breath and Tugger finished his thought for him.

"Don't let anyone else come this way," Tugger said. He stomped through the snow and gently helped Mistoffelees to his feet, helping him walk closer to the fence. "No one should have to see her this way… especially not kittens."

"Munk and Alonzo are on their way," Demeter said numbly. Again, she asked, "What the bloody hell happened here?"

"Macavity," Mistoffelees said. He didn't miss the brief flash of panic in Demeter's eyes. "He had Jezebel killed and he took Mandragora."

"Oh… everlasting." Demeter put a paw to her mouth, shielding a look of sudden despair. He didn't need to say anything else because, like him, Demeter had clearly already puzzled out Macavity's line of thinking.

"Is Josephine all right?" Tugger asked.

"She's not hurt," Demeter said. "She was starting to calm down when I left, but… oh, the poor thing must have seen all of this."

Her ears twitched and she suddenly whipped around to see who'd been approaching behind her. She relaxed somewhat, and Mistoffelees saw Alonzo cautiously approaching, supporting a bedraggled and weak-looking Munkustrap.

"Jezebel is gone," Demeter quietly said.

"Gone as in gone away?" Alonzo asked, practically dragging Munkustrap along to the edge of the fence. "Or…?"

"Macavity killed her."

Munkustrap seemed to shake off his weakness, batting away Alonzo's paws and hauling himself over to Demeter. He spotted the body at the same time he began to ask, "What happ—oh. Oh damn it."

"He's got Mandra too," Demeter said.

"All right, we need to-" Munkustrap's thought dissolved as he began to cough, deeply and wetly. The smoke he'd breathed in hadn't been kind to him.

Demeter placed a gentle paw on her mate's back. "We need to make sure this area is off-limits until everyone is told what happened. And until we decide what to do with poor Jezebel."

Mistoffelees nodded mechanically. "And we need to go to Elmsmere Way to talk to Macavity."

Tugger gaped. "But you just said-!"

"I said we're going to go, calmly. We're not going to attack. We're going to see what he wants."

"You think he wants something from you?" Munkustrap asked weakly. His voice was reedy and he was still doubled over, trying to get his breath back. "What could he want?"

Demeter met his eyes sharply. Oh, she knew. Mistoffelees held her gaze knowingly as he said, "I don't know, but Tugger and I are going to find out. We're going to Elmsmere Way."

"I'm coming too," Munkustrap croaked.

"Absolutely not," Demeter said. "You're about to keel over. Alonzo and I will go with them."

"I can't let you-"

"You need to stay here. Tell everyone what's going on when they come this way. And… you need to watch over Jezebel."

Munkustrap quietly admitted defeat, sinking into the ground on his haunches as another cough rattled his shoulders.

Mistoffelees wanted nothing more than to do the same, to collapse on the ground and forget that anything bad was happening. He swayed on his feet a bit and leaned into Tugger.

"Hey," Tugger said, catching him. His tone was calm, but there was no hiding the tension beneath. "You're a little banged up yourself. Are you sure you can go to Elmsmere Way?"

Saying no was not an option. Not for Mistoffelees, and not for Tugger either. The question was only asked because Tugger needed reassurance that his mate was all right, that he could focus on getting their daughter back. When Macavity was involved, Tugger was out of his element, and he knew it.

"I'm fine," Mistoffelees said. "Teleporting will be faster than walking."

"The four of us?" Alonzo asked. He gave Munkustrap a sad, encouraging look before joining Mistoffelees, Tugger, and Demeter. He was clearly unsure of how this whole process worked.

"And the five of us back," Mistoffelees said. He spoke with a confidence he didn't feel, couldn't even begin to access. But if anyone was going to be the leader now, the protector, it would have to be him.

He looked from Tugger to Demeter to Alonzo, mentally connecting them through his magic, preparing to pull them along the slipstream of magical energy he used to bend the physical world and teleport. He just hoped he wasn't delivering any of them to their deaths. Everlasting Cat help him.

"All right," Mistoffelees said. "Let's get our daughter back."

He concentrated, mentally travelled to the one place he'd hoped never to see anywhere but his nightmares, and in a flash the four of them were gone.

***

Mandragora yelped as the world re-materialized around her. The effect left her disoriented and she stumbled, unwittingly burrowing against the tom who still had an iron grip on her arm.

She yelped again and tried to pull away, but he wasn't letting go. Mandragora hated him. His gray and brown fur was dirty and unkempt, his breath stank of rotting mice, and while one of his eyes was scarred shut, the other leered at her.

He'd leered back there, too. Back when fire suddenly tore open the fence of the junkyard, just a few yards from where Jezebel, Josephine, and she had been standing, and four strange cats casually stepped inside the boundaries of their home.

The first one in was the scarred tom, followed by two wiry, white cats with fur stained pink and pinched eyes. The last one in was a tall, wild-furred red cat with cold eyes and gnarled whiskers. He'd taken one careful and appraising look at the three stunned queens, and raised a thick paw to point at Mandragora.

The scarred tom had leered with his good eye and laughed when Jezebel had hissed and clawed at the tall red cat, shoving Josephine and Mandragora behind her to shield them. The tall red tom nodded to the scarred one, and then to the two wiry white cats with the stained fur.

He'd leered as he tried to pry Mandragora and Josephine away, only to dodge a swipe from Jezebel, who screamed at the two kits to get away and run.

And worst of all, he'd leered and grinned as the twin white cats pounced on the old queen, savaging her with teeth and claws.

Josephine had tried to stop them, clawing at one of the white cats, only to be knocked to the ground as they continued their work on Jezebel until she gurgled and stopped fighting back.

Mandragora remembered the screams. First Jezebel's, then her own, and probably Josephine's. She screamed until she was raw, watching the old queen's blood splatter onto her sister, spreading in the snow, melting it to slush with its heat.

She remembered struggling, kicking, clawing, breaking a claw as the scarred tom caught her paw, twisting her arm behind her.

And then her head felt as though it was exploding, as though she was titling sideways but never hitting the ground. Josephine's screams faded and her own caught in her throat.

And then she wasn't standing just outside the junkyard fence anymore. She was in a human neighbourhood on a dirty snow-covered street, in front of a human house with boards over the windows.

She knew, without knowing where she was, that she was a long, long way from home. Her father had teleported her a few times, and she recognized the feeling of this particular type of magic. But the wielder wasn't her father. It was the tall, cold-eyed cat, who was now carefully appraising her from head to tail.

He took a few confident steps closer. She struggled against the scarred tom.

"What do you want from me?" Mandragora hissed.

A few more steps and the tall cat with the red fur towered over her. He was the leader here, that was much was clear, but that was all Mandragora could glean from the situation.

He took her paw in his huge one, easily encircling her wrist. His claws were thick and sharp and pressed against her fur and skin. Not enough to break skin, not even enough to hurt. He was being gentle, and it made the situation all the more puzzling.

She made a token effort to pull her paw away, just to see what he'd do. He tightened his grip, but still didn't crush or scratch her, instead pulling her forward, a bit off-balance.

He brought her wrist to his nose. It should have been comical, especially since he was so tall and she was so short that he needed to bend at the waist to do it, but the gesture only made Mandragora's stomach twist in fear.

The tall cat breathed in, raking his nose along the fur of her wrist, her arm. She felt his whiskers against her paw, so sharp they felt as though they would stab her clean through flesh and bone.

"You were here once before," the tall cat said. His breath was like a hot poker against her fur. "Do you remember?"

"I've… I've never been here before," Mandragora evenly said.

"A long time ago—a lifetime for you, quite literally—your little tom of a mother came here to visit me. He was full to bursting with kits. I said hello and gave you all a little pat. One of you said hello back with a kick. I am certain…" And he gave her wrist another slow, deliberate sniff. "… it was you."

Mandragora's breaths collapsed into shallow gasps. No, none of this made sense at all. She didn't know this cold monster, and surely neither of her fathers did? But how did he know about her parentage?

And why did it matter to him?

Why did Jezebel have to die for this?

"My father doesn't-" she started to say, cutting herself off as the tall cat squeezed her paw, his first overt show of violence. She trembled but forced herself to keep holding his gaze. She needed to be strong. Assertive. It's what her fathers would have done. It's what Uncle Munk had taught her.

"I am about to welcome you into my home," the tall cat said. "And I wish to make one thing clear: if you try to kick me again, I will cut your throat and then let my associates…" He nodded towards the two stained white twins. "… finish whatever is left. Do you understand?"

Mandragora tried to pull her paw away. She couldn't move it an inch.

"You will follow my instructions. You will not fight me, and you will not fight anyone who lives with me. Your comfort and safety will not be in danger as long as you obey. Do you understand?"

He gave her all of two seconds to continue staring at him, gape-mouthed, before signaling to the twin cats and to the scruffy scarred tom who held her. Mandragora was then dragged down the unkempt and snowy path towards the human house, where the tall cat led the way inside through a broken entrance in the bottom of the door.

The inside of the house was big, bigger than any den Mandragora had ever known. It instantly made her feel vulnerable. It smelled of many toms and queens, of old food, a bit of blood.

A few cats scurried out of the way when they saw the tall red cat enter, aside from a lanky queen with rough caramel-tabby fur. She took her time stretching and rising from the pillow on which she'd been lounging.

She strode to the new arrivals, disdainfully looked Mandragora up and down, something she was starting to get used to. The queen was all bones, old with dull and dusty fur. Probably as old as Jezebel. Mandragora instantly hated her.

Her appraisal done, the old queen raised an uncouth eyebrow and said, in a gravelly voice, "That one looks like she'd blow over in a breeze, Mac. Don't tell me that's who you want."

"No," the tall red cat said. His name was Mac? "But she has her own purpose."

"What do you want me to do?" Mandragora quietly asked. She made her tone a little more sniveling, a little more scared than she truly felt. They didn't want to kill her, though this strange tall cat was clearly dangerous. She was interested to learn what they wanted from her, or at least to pretend to care long enough to get away.

"I want you to remain calm and obedient for now," Mac said.

"T'ain't you he wants," the scarred tom said in her ear, playfully pinching her scruff. "It's your whore of a father."

"What?" Mandragora yelped, snapping her head forward to free her scruff from his grip. Magic. It had to be magic. This Mac tom clearly had magic. Did he need more? Is that why he wanted her father? "No, please… don't hurt my dad. I can give you what you want."

This made the bony old queen laugh in a harsh throaty rattle. Mac hissed in her direction. "Sedna, enough."

"I have magic," Mandragora said. Magic too weak to even teleport a spoon more than a yard, but that was for her to know. "You can use my magic. Take it!"

Mac coolly regarded her, a hint of a smirk on his sharp mouth. "You don't know who I am, do you? No, only your little father can give me what I want. He escaped me once. But now that I have one of his most precious possessions, I believe he and I will reach an agreement."

"What does my father-"

She was interrupted as the scarred tom took her by the arm and gave her a rough shake. "I'll bring her to the basement."

"No, not quite yet. Keep her close by."

There came a dull snap from far outside. Mac raised a knowing eyebrow. "It would seem your little tom of a mother wasted no time. Sedna and Bixbite, watch over this little one here." He waved a paw toward the twin white cats and indicated the door. "Cesare and Eris, let's go greet our new arrivals."

Chapter Text

Elmsmere Way had a distinct, nauseating scent to it. Rumours abounded that Macavity had cleared it for his use a long time ago by using fire to scatter the human residents, and the gutted houses still stood, abandoned, charred, lending the area a perpetual smell of smoke and ashes. Mistoffelees couldn't be sure, but he thought Elmsmere Way had an underlying scent of blood and burnt flesh, and he wondered if Macavity had done a bit more than simply scatter the former residents.

Mistoffelees had only been to Elmsmere Way once before. He knew the smell would never leave his memory.

He'd assumed he'd never have to return, but there he was, using up the very last vestiges of his energy to teleport himself, Tugger, Demeter and Alonzo back to the place he'd tried so hard to forget for almost two years.

Teleporting was a difficult bit of magic. Mistoffelees could transport himself and others to any place he could focus on, but in order to do it without causing injury or death, he needed a clear view of his arrival spot. He remembered exactly where Macavity's hideout was within Elmsmere Way, but he had no way of knowing how heavily the house was guarded, whether they'd arrive into a trap, or even if an extra fence or boulder had been placed in what he'd previously believed to be an empty spot.

Because of all that, he opted to teleport everyone to the only other spot in Elmsmere Way he knew well: the abandoned house in which he'd given birth to his kittens.

When the haze of magic cleared and the ground solidified under his paws, Mistoffelees immediately pitched to the side, dizzy and drained from too much magic and too little rest. It was Demeter who caught him and kept him from slamming into the cold ground. She squeezed his arms in reassurance as he frantically blinked and the familiar house came into view.

They were just outside the front of the house, with the front door stuck tight, frost rimming the long-destroyed wood and paint of the frame. The window by the door was still broken from where Tugger had kicked it to get inside. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"This way," Demeter said. She gave him a little nudge before releasing his arms, just to make sure he was steady on his feet, and he gave a curt nod to indicate that yes, he was fine, just fine.

Demeter led them down the street away and of course she knew, of course she remembered where Macavity's lair was.

The dead streets of the abandoned neighbourhood were eerily quiet, the dead grass and broken junk covered in snow. There was the occasional trail of paw prints but it was useless to try tracking anything, not when Macavity came and went as he pleased without leaving a paw print anywhere.

"Follow my lead," Mistoffelees whispered for Tugger's benefit. "And don't do anything foolish."

Tugger looked a little hurt at the suggestion. "I just want to get Mandra back."

"And that's why you shouldn't do anything foolish. Macavity has a… method to his madness. Cooperation helps you stay alive a little longer."

"But cooperation with that? We still don't know what he wants."

Mistoffelees said nothing. He let Demeter take the lead while Alonzo slowed to walk alongside him, protecting him as he eyed the ruined houses all around them. Poor Alonzo; if anyone was going to be doing any protecting here, it would be Mistoffelees, and that wasn't saying much.

The march to Macavity's house made Mistoffelees' stomach twist in familiarity. He'd been marched through here by henchcats, who'd had a rough touch but hadn't really hurt him, beyond a few choice sneers. Mandra was probably safe, then. Macavity needed her. He didn't hurt anything or anyone if he needed them.

Everlasting, he hoped he was correct.

They rounded a corner filled with broken pallets of wood and a rusted, upturned metal garbage can. Demeter carefully sidestepped a broken glass jar and when she moved, Macavity's lair came into view.

Mistoffelees had few memories of the house itself. He and Demeter had been marched in and locked up in the basement, their small and terrifying home for three days. He remembered his anxiety at the situation, the panic as Macavity's plans became clear. It had rained for one of those days. He remembered fitful sleep and then pain as his kittens suddenly decided to come into the world.

And then a different sort of pain, a strong, liberating pain, as Macavity threatened him and his kittens and his body responded in the only way it knew how: with a burst of pure, unstoppable magic.

Macavity and his house and his henchcats were a blur after that moment. The rest of his time in Elmsmere Way was spent giving birth to his kittens, and getting as far away from the place as possible. Too many things he tried hard not to commit to memory, including the memory of Mandragora's birth. The runt of the litter, she'd come out not breathing. Tugger had managed to get her breathing again, but he refused to dig into the memory, and Tugger had never mentioned it again, for both their sakes.

And now they were back in this place, and again Mandra was the one in danger. Elmsmere Way was cursed.

As they approached, Macavity stood on the splintered porch of the house, a casual curve to his body meant to indicate his lack of surprise at their arrival. Mistoffelees frowned. The Hidden Paw was flanked by three cats he did not recognize.

One was a tall and lanky queen with dull fur and dull whiskers, who casually picked at her teeth with a claw and coolly watched their approach. She was likely not a threat, though any cat who'd earned the right to stand at Macavity's side had to be taken with caution.

The other two gave Mistoffelees greater anxiety. They were twin cats, a tom and a queen, small and wiry and sharp all over. Their fur could have been pure gleaming white, were it not for the deep-set pink stains around their paws and throats and bellies, and Mistoffelees realized with revulsion that the pink stains were for the most part old, long-dried blood. The queen still had fresh blood on her chest.

Mistoffelees bristled at the sight and the smell. Jezebel's blood.

"Welcome back," Macavity purred, theatrically drawing out every syllable. His voice was calm and still it boomed over the silent wind of Elmsmere Way. "I've missed you so, Mistoffelees. How good of you to come visit."

If Macavity wanted to play, then Mistoffelees would play the game. Whatever kept everyone alive and safe. "You didn't need such extreme methods to get my attention, Macavity. You could have just asked for a visit."

Macavity's mouth split into a wicked grin. "But look how efficient it was. You're here."

Demeter stood tall and alert on his left side, while he felt Alonzo and, more importantly, Tugger's restless energy at his right side. He was staying quiet, which was more than Mistoffelees had expected at this point.

"You took something from us," Mistoffelees said.

"And in turn, you have something I need. Isn't it interesting how these things balance out?"

"What do you want?" Tugger suddenly bellowed. Well, Mistoffelees supposed it was too expect him to stay quiet for long. "Where is she, you piece of filth? Where is my daughter?"

Macavity gave Tugger a bored look, then addressed Mistoffelees as though they were discussing an unruly kitten. "I'm surprised you brought him. Does he always have this temper?"

"Let me see Mandragora," Mistoffelees said. It was a chore to keep his voice steady. "Please. And then make your demand."

Another long, cool look from Macavity. It was impossible to tell what was happening behind those cold, sharp eyes, but he was likely debating if Mistoffelees had jumped through the proper hoops and could now be rewarded. He turned to the lanky queen and nodded briskly toward the house. She flicked off whatever she'd been picking from her teeth and went into the house.

"I've never seen her before," Demeter whispered to him. "Or those two."

"Those two killed Jezebel!" Alonzo hissed, as though noticing the two white cats for the first time.

"And they'll kill us if we're not careful," Mistoffelees said. He made a point of looking at Tugger while he spoke, though his mate only had eyes for the house, waiting to see who would emerge.

"Not you though, Misto," Demeter said.

Alonzo frowned at her, puzzled. Mistoffelees stalled any questions by raising his paw. "He just needs me alive. Not necessarily intact."

"Dad!"

Mistoffelees' heart leapt at the sound. By some miracle, Tugger managed to resist running forward, a move that would have instantly cost him his life. Instead he stuck his arms out as far as they could go as though he could manage to reach the struggling queen who'd just appeared, held firmly in the paws of a large white and grey tom. "Mandra!"

She's all right, she's all right, Mistoffelees chanted to himself, frantically scanning his daughter up and down for any signs of scratches, blood, abuse. She was scared, but not hurt.

"Mandra, just stay calm, okay kitten?" Mistoffelees said. "You're going to be all right."

Mandra nodded jerkily, as much as she could with her scruff in the firm grip of the white and grey tom. His face was scarred and one of his eyes was missing. This tom was instantly familiar.

"It's Bixbite," Demeter said with revulsion. "I thought he was dead."

Then again, Mistoffelees assumed that Macavity was dead too. If ever he managed to get his paws near Macavity without his daughter at stake, he vowed he would not stop until the Hidden Paw was dead.

"When you last visited me," Macavity said, speaking coolly as though Mistoffelees and Demeter had merely been over for tea. "We had a little discussion about my plans for the future. Do you remember?"

Mistoffelees heard a low hiss from Demeter. He clenched his own paws, quelling the anguish he felt now that Macavity was confirming his suspicions. "You talked about a lot of things. I had other things on my mind at the time."

Macavity laughed darkly and shot Bixbite a 'don't-I-know-it' glance. "You're quite right. It was not the best time for my offer, was it? That was entirely my fault. Let's begin anew."

Tugger's paw banged into his arm and Mistoffelees realized he was trying to grasp his arm, eyes still riveted to Macavity. "What's he talking about?" he whispered. "What offer? What did he offer you?"

"Your mate has special talents, as you can see." He winked in Mandra's direction before stepping down from the porch, one careful, calculated footfall at a time.

"His magic?" Tugger asked.

"Of a sort."

"Thick one, i'n't he?" the lanky queen snorted.

"The idea of my legacy ending with me is not an appealing one," Macavity said. "Magic is an inherited talent, so as you can imagine, I am looking for certain talents in a mate so that these talents may be given to any kittens of mine."

"Wait…" Tugger said. He was either beginning to understand what Macavity was driving at, or threatened by the bigger cat's careful approach of their group.

"You have these talents," Macavity said. He stopped a few inches from Mistoffelees, towering over the entire group. Mistoffelees silently begged them all to stay still as Macavity raised a paw and gently poked him in his soft, but flat belly. "I saw it when you first came to visit. You were ripe with kittens."

"Don't touch him! Don't touch him!"

"Tugger, shut it."

"So I will offer again, in very precise terms," Macavity said, amused by Tugger's outburst. "Your daughter will be returned to you, if you first bear me a litter of magical kittens."

Of course now Tugger understood, and now he barked a sour, exaggerated laugh. "Ha! No! Never! He'd never do anything to help you like that!"

"Everlasting Cat, will you let me speak?" Mistoffelees hissed, ignoring the way Tugger snapped his jaw shut with a hurt look. To Macavity, he said, "Listen, I don't care about whatever plans you have for heirs. Give me my daughter back, and I'll help you, but not like you ask. Maybe… maybe I could help find you a queen, one with magic. Somewhere here, in London."

"There is no cat, in London or anywhere, magical or not, I don't already know about."

"I have my own secret ways of contacting cats you may not know about." He didn't, but he hoped Macavity would fall for his bluff. If anything it would buy them time.

"Please. I know of everyone, everywhere, who is of interest to me. How did you think I found you in the first place? How do you think I found your runt?"

Mistoffelees bristled. "Then maybe… maybe I could teach you how to bear the kittens yourself? The sire wouldn't matter, as long as the one bearing them is magical."

Macavity blinked dumbly. His face suddenly crumpled and he heaved a strange breath, and Mistoffelees realized he was laughing, genuinely laughing for the first time in probably ages. Behind him, the lanky queen wheezed a laugh.

"I'm serious! If I could do it, so could you. You'd know the kittens are pure-"

"Go for it, Mac!" the queen said. She mimed patting a large stomach and grinned at Macavity. "I'd pay to see that!"

"Enough, Sedna."

Macavity looked behind him one way and the other, making sure all hilarity and dissention was quelled before he fixed his gaze on Mistoffelees again. "Timing is everything, Mistoffelees. Take some time to think of my offer. You have one week. If I've not heard back from you in an agreeable fashion by then, your runt will be deposited on your doorstep, and I will allow Eris and Cesare to do the delivery."

The two white cats cackled and the queen dipped a finger in the tacky blood on her chest.

Mistoffelees clenched his jaw, mind racing, looking from one cat to the other. Strength wouldn't work. Magic was too dangerous right now. He'd need to use cunning. He just needed to buy enough time to think of a trick.

He nodded, briskly. "Okay. Give me one week."

"I expect cooperation." Macavity's words were as firm as a slamming door. He cocked his chin towards Bixbite, then the two white cats, and finally to Sedna, the rusty old queen. In turn they went back into the house, Bixbite dragging Mandragora by the scruff.

"Dad!" she croaked.

"We'll get you out!" Mistoffelees yelled. "We love you!" His legs almost collapsed as the door shut.

No. No way was he going to lose a kitten to Macavity. One way or another, he was going to get her back home safely.

"Misto… Misto?" Tugger said. His tone was panicked, almost hysterical as he stared disbelieving at the closed door and the empty porch. "What are we doing? We need to be doing something!"

"We will," Mistoffelees said. "We're going to go home and think of a plan."

"But-"

Arguing was useless. As much as the thought of leaving Mandra here turned his stomach, Mistoffelees grabbed Tugger's shoulder, turned him back towards Demeter and Alonzo, and teleported before anyone could protest.

Chapter Text

As they teleported back to the junkyard, Mistoffelees had a brief impression of a burnt fence and surprised Jellicles before he pitched sideways onto the ground, too dizzy and exhausted to do much more than pant as his cheek pressed against the snowy ground.

A pair of paws grasped his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Mistoffelees had hoped, but had not expected, to see Tugger staring down at him, and sure enough it was Alonzo's worried face that greeted him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Bloody terrific," Mistoffelees muttered, throwing a shaking paw across his eyes. The snow crunched restlessly somewhere on his left side.

"We left her," Tugger was saying. He still hadn't dropped the near-hysterical tone he'd had back in Elmsmere Way. "I can't believe we left her!"

"We're not leaving her," Mistoffelees said. He blinked as his vision briefly greyed out and tried to meet Tugger's eyes. "We won't let him hurt her. I just need to think of something."

"What's there to think about? You're not going to… do what he wanted!"

He had to admit it was kind of Tugger not to mention the details of the deal out loud. "I'm not. But we need a plan. And keep this whole thing to yourselves, all right? Macavity's deal, I mean."

Alonzo nodded, and Tugger restlessly stormed away. Mistoffelees sighed and rubbed at his eyes. His head hurt, his ankle hurt, his hip hurt, and now anxiety was gnawing at his insides.

All around him, the smell of smoke was still thick in the air, stinging his eyes. His ears twitched at the sound of worried chatter, the occasional sob undercut by the sound of a deep hacking cough.

"…Dad?"

A warm, stable paw slipped under his shoulders and Mistoffelees let Cyrano pull him into a sitting position, replacing Alonzo at his side. It took a few blinks before realization set in and he nearly made himself dizzy again as he whipped around in the snow, looking for the gory scene they'd left behind before teleporting. Who had allowed his son to come here?

He spotted Munkustrap first, his paws balanced on his knees as he gagged into the snow, still under the effects of the smoke inhalation. Demeter had gone to his side and now Alonzo joined them.

Tugger continued to pace in the snow, restless with nervous energy with no particular destination in mind. Skimble stood a few paces away, anxiously rubbing at his face as Jenny stood grimly, patting his arm and looking down at a Jellicle-sized lump in the snow, covered by a thick plaid shawl. Someone had made a token effort to kick snow over the splatters of blood that had once been Jezebel's.

No one else had come to visit the grisly scene. Mistoffelees was relieved, but only slightly so, that Cyrano was the only one of his kittens here. He had probably insisted on coming and no one had insisted on stopping him.

"How did… um, where's Mandra?" Cyrano asked.

"Still in Elmsmere Way," Mistoffelees said, his voice thin. "Still with Macavity."

His son frowned. He didn't know Macavity. None of the younger generation did. If Mistoffelees had had his way, none of them would have known about him.

"I'll explain later," the tux said, holding onto his son's arm as he shakily got to his feet. "But she's safe for the moment. We just need to decide some things before we get her back."

Cyrano nodded, a little dubious, but trusting, letting his father lean heavily on him as they trudged through the snow and back inside the junkyard. Tugger eventually paced back to his side, tail still twitching in anxiety, though his features were softened.

Munkustrap greeted them with a harsh cough smothered against the back of his paw. "I sent Alonzo to get Old Deuteronomy from the vicarage," he rasped. "We'll need him for… for the funeral."

"Oh dear," Jenny sighed, turning her gaze away from where Jezebel's body lay swaddled in the shawl. She looked bent and weary, as though a pollicle were riding on her shoulders. "What is he going to think about everything that happened here?"

"And what about your little one, lad?" Skimble asked.

Mistoffelees sighed. He felt ready to faint, despite the dread coursing along his limbs. Tugger's arm slid around his back protectively and said, "Mandra's okay. Macavity won't hurt her, right? Not right now."

He directed large, worried eyes to his mate, and Mistoffelees nodded. "We just need to figure out our next step. I'm convinced he won't harm her."

Jenny bristled. She was never one to enjoy a lack of details when it came to drama. "But why does he want that poor sweet dear?"

"It's a long story," Mistoffelees murmured, shaky on his legs as his son and his mate supported him back into the junkyard. Munkustrap followed closely, his breath in short rasps, his arm slung around Demeter. "Let's worry about Jezebel for the moment."

Jenny sighed, though the tail end veered off into a small sob. Mistoffelees did not blame her; he felt like curling up into a tight ball and sobbing himself, cursing the day he'd ever felt magic first coursing through his paws.

To Mistoffelees' chagrin, Tugger ended up carrying him the last few yards to their den. He deposited the smaller tom on their blankets, a stony expression on his face, and spoke in the direction of Cyrano, who'd quietly followed them home.

"Go check on Josephine," Tugger said. "Tell her I'll be right there to take care of her."

Cyrano nodded meekly. "Is there anything else I can do…? What—um. What should I tell everyone?"

"Don't say anything. I'll be right there."

With Cyrano gone, a heavy silence filled the den. Mistoffelees had thrown an arm over his aching eyes and he lowered it now, meeting Tugger's troubled gaze.

"You never told me that," Tugger said.

"What?"

"What Macavity wanted, when he took you and Demeter the first time. You never told me he wanted you to…" Tugger looked nauseated then, looking everywhere but at his mate. "You never told me he wanted kittens."

"It wasn't important. I said he wanted my magic, and I didn't lie."

"You didn't-!" Tugger spluttered, clawing at his mane. He tugged at a hunk of fur with such force Mistoffelees was scared it would be pulled out.

"It wasn't necessary to tell you that," Mistoffelees amended. "It was done and over and there no sense in upsetting you."

"I'm upset now!"

"Not because of me!"

Tugger gave a hard yank to his mane and released it. He turned his nervous attention to one of the blankets on the bed. "So what are we going to do? We can't give him what he wants, so what are we going to do? Right? We're not giving him what he wants?"

Mistoffelees pressed his mouth into a hard line.

"Misto! Everlasting! Say we're not doing it! You are not going to mate with him, and-and… "

"It… maybe wouldn't be the most terrible thing."

"What the bloody-!" Tugger's paws clenched and unclenched, a snarl of fury on his face. He leapt to his feet and paced to the end of the den, looking quite intent on putting his fist through the wall. "You can't… you can't be serious!"

The words felt ashen as Mistoffelees spoke them. "We may not have any other choice, Tugger."

"We do! We'll fight, we'll bring the whole junkyard over! We'll… use magic? Please? Please?"

The last word came out in a strangled, desperate whisper as Tugger lost his will to maim the wall and collapsed to his rump, his agitated breaths turning into rapid gasps.

Swallowing thickly, Mistoffelees rolled to all fours and, lacking the strength to do anything more than crawl, made his way across the den and to his distressed mate.

He quickly took Tugger's paws in his own, uncurling the clenched fists, applying pressure to the palms. "Listen to me, Tug. Breathe. Just breathe. Slowly…"

Between the grounding pressure and the slow mantra, bit-by-bit Tugger's breaths slowed to a normal cadence.

Once the haze of panic cleared, Tugger gathered him in a crushing embrace, pressing his lips to Mistoffelees' head as the smaller tom gently smoothed out the kinked fur in Tugger's mane. The minutes ticked by in the oppressive silence of the den and a nagging thought at the back of Mistoffelees' mind told him to enjoy this moment, because such things might be scarce in the future. Mistoffelees quite adeptly pretended not to know what the voice was talking about.

"It'll be all right," Mistoffelees said. He nuzzled Tugger's mane and straightened up. "I think I have an idea, and it involves magic."

The hope in Tugger's eyes was heartbreaking. "You do? Yes?"

"I do. Now let me get some rest. Go check on Josephine and the other kits. We… we're going to have a difficult few days ahead of us."

Tugger nodded somberly. He nabbed his mate's chin between his paws and kissed him. "Thank you. I love you."

"I love you too, Tug."

With thoughts of his kits on his mind, Tugger made a hasty exit from the den, sending a brisk winter breeze into the den as he did. Mistoffelees shivered, as much from exhaustion as cold, and crawled back to the blankets. He fell asleep within minutes and felt himself spiralling down a dark cavern as he did.

***

The spiraling cavern chased his dreams and dogged his every sleeping moment. A day of sleep had worked to clear Mistoffelees' head, but not much else. He woke with a start at early dusk, taking a moment to ground himself to confirm that no, the previous day's events had not been a horrible, horrible nightmare.

The air still stank of stale smoke, there was a dead Jellicle, his body was still in pain, and his daughter was still in Macavity's clutches.

And the damned ultimatum still hung above his head. Give Macavity kittens, or lose his kitten.

Mistoffelees stretched, groaning at the ache in his hip and leg. He felt sore and parched and starving yet nauseated all at once, and he hadn't even begun the laborious task of getting up.

He rolled off the blankets and managed a woozy kneel before his ears pricked at the gentle sounds in the den. It was too quiet and measured to be Tugger but too comfortable to be anyone but one of his kittens. Mistoffelees sighed, rubbed his eyes, and struggled to his feet. He needed more time before facing his kittens but time was not a luxury he had at the moment.

Mistoffelees limped to the door of his bedroom and poked his head out to see Cappella, sprawled on the ground and looking quite bored as she batted at some smooth rocks. When she noticed her father she bolted to her feet, tail whipping in nervous agitation.

"Oh, dad! How are you feeling? I heard about everything—well, not everything, dad wouldn't answer some things, but… how are you?"

"I'll be all right, sweetheart," Mistoffelees said. He placed his paw on her cheek to calm her down a little. "How's your sister?"

"Josephine?" Cappella scoffed a bit, pinching the generous swell of her hip. "Well this morning she was screaming at everyone who wasn't dad and called me a pounder, so I guess she's fine."

At least it was a relief to hear Josephine was well. "And so you decided to come kittensit me?"

"Well, that," Cappella said. Her tail began to whip again and she chewed her lip. "And I was supposed to wake you so you wouldn't be late for… for Jezebel's funeral."

"Right," Mistoffelees murmured. His heart broke as much for Jezebel as it did for these kittens, his and others, who understood so little of what was happening here. He would owe them all an explanation at some point, but now was not the time for that. They had a fallen friend to mourn. "I suppose we should get going."

"You need to eat first, dad. You've been asleep for a whole day."

Mistoffelees' first instinct was to protest and press on, but one step towards the den's exit had him swaying on his feet. Cappella grasped his arm and helped him to sit before he collapsed in an astoundingly graceless heap.

"See? Ha, you know, I've always wanted to be able to say 'I told you so'. Now here, I've got half a rat for you…"

The thought of food led to thoughts of Mandra, to memories of being fed while in Macavity's capture. Macavity had brought them food and water in abundance and he hoped Mandra was valuable enough to him that she was receiving the same treatment.

He hoped that she wasn't alone and frightened in Macavity's basement. He hoped that those two horrible twins with the stained fur were nowhere near her. He hoped—

"Dad? You need to eat. We'll be late."

Mistoffelees nodded shakily. "Of course. I'm sorry, kit…"

He couldn't banish thoughts of his daughter, but he could ask them to lie quiescent at least long enough for him to help honor Jezebel. He pressed on through his churning stomach and ate.

***

Funerals were rare in the Jellicle tribe. Illness and injury were no strangers to the tribe, but either through luck or some greater design, very few Jellicles had ever succumbed to a sudden death. Mistoffelees searched his memories and found he had none of such a ritual, though he realized with a pang that the last funeral in the tribe would have been held for Demeter's mother.

His eyes landed on Demeter. She stood stony-faced next to Munkustrap, who was still pale and unsteady from the smoke inhalation, and who in turn stood next to his father.

Old Deuteronomy looked older and wearier as he stood in the snow, his head bowed to the bundled figure before him. A circle of Jellicles had naturally formed to pay final respects to Jezebel, who'd been tended to and neatly bundled in a thick green shawl.

Tugger stood by Mistoffelees' side, his mane in disarray again, while their kittens clustered closely around. Josephine was nearly plastered to Tugger's side, stoically staring at Jezebel. Sobs and hiccups and whispered assurances ebbed and flowed through the circle but Mistoffelees paid no attention.

His eyes were riveted to the green bundle. It could have been Josephine there. It could eventually be Mandra there, and right now the only thing that stood between thought and reality was him. He had to act.

"It was said a long time ago," Old Deuteronomy said, his voice settling like a blanket of snow. "That we do not actually fear death; we fear that no one will notice our absence, that we will disappear without a trace. This is the fear that drives Jellicles to ask of the Everlasting Cat that, if only for one night a year, we may choose the one who departs from this world, so that one life at the very least will be guaranteed celebration and remembrance.

"Unfortunately, life is not without its twisting roads, and that is the very reason it is worth living. Our dearest Jezebel, though taken through a twisting road, will not have disappeared without a trace. Together, we remember. Together we make our departed everlasting. I invite anyone now to step forward and share why Jezebel will never disappear from our memories."

Munkustrap was the first to step forward. He spoke, but Mistoffelees didn't listen, staring at the green shawl, as the air began to land heavily in his lungs.

He touched Tugger's arm by way of signal, unwilling to ruin the silence of the circle, and retreated quietly. His heart thudded frantically against his ribs as he found an area out of sight, located a snow-covered crate, and landed hard on it.

Mistoffelees clenched his paws into tight fists, deliberately pressing his claws into the tender flesh of his palms, staring down at the disturbed snow as he willed the cold air into his lungs. He focused on the pain of the claws digging into his palms, fought back the scream of anger and frustration that tickled dangerously at his throat. Swallowed back the anxiety that churned his guts. Calmed the nerves that made him want to punch the crate, throw it through the air, and aim his deadliest bolt of lightning at it.

He couldn't give in to the panic. He had a job to do.

Mistoffelees slowly uncurled his cramping paws, the pinpricks in his palms pulsing to the beat of his frantic heart. He brought the paws together, closing his eyes, focusing his energy, his magic, and—finding the eye of the hurricane in his panic—pictured a copy of his own body and let it flow through his paws.

When he opened his eyes, a copy of himself stood dumbly in the snow. Mistoffelees' paws undulated, manipulated the magic, and soon the dull-eyed replica morphed into a queen. He made her a bit taller, slimmer, with a modest chest. When pregnant, his magic had taken the rather rude initiative of transforming him into a queen for the birth, and so queen-parts weren't exactly foreign to him. He gave the illusion queen everything she needed, then morphed her face, tweaking her features.

With a flick of his wrist the queen whirled in place, bowed, sashayed a few steps. She was lithe and lovely and something any tom would have found irresistible. But hold on… did Macavity even like queens? He didn't seem too choosy about who carried his kittens, but would a voluptuous magical queen catch his eye long enough for him to…?

Mistoffelees briefly shuddered at the thought of Macavity rutting this fake queen. Maybe she would only need to be convincing enough to get into his den. Surely that would be enough for him to release Mandra.

"Dad?"

He jumped, his wrist jerking, making the queen twitch in a ridiculous dance before she stood still again.

Tourmaline quietly padded through the snow, cocking her head at the sight of her father and a strange queen.

"You left early. I came to see if you were all right… and who do we have here?

He made the illusion queen turn to greet his daughter. The voice was a little rusty but it sounded believable enough. "Hello, Tourmaline."

Tourmaline gave the queen a cool look, then turned to her father. "Why are you conjuring up fake cats?"

"What? No," Mistoffelees said wanly. "This is my friend… Agatha. She's from Inverness. Say hello, Tourma."

"Her eyes look a little dull," Tourmaline said, poking at the queen's face. Mistoffelees made a mental note to add the ability to flinch in his illusory queen, and as he watched his tuxedo-patterned daughter stand to a queen with the same coat, the thought revolted him. He wasn't going to send in a fake queen that looked like his daughter, for Bast's sake.

He clenched his paw and concentrated and the queen's coat changed to a light cream-red.

"That's a bit prettier," Tourmaline observed. "What is this for? If this is to replace Mandra, I can promise you we'll notice."

Mistoffelees sighed at his daughter's attempt at dark humour. "This is to… distract Macavity."

"You're going to build an army of cats, then? Gorgeous, voluptuous ones?"

"Something like that." Mistoffelees closed his fist, withdrawing the magical energy and taking with it the fake queen. It was a shot in the dark anyway.

Tourmaline implacably stared at the spot the vanished queen had recently occupied. "Dad? What's the story behind this Macavity? Why did he decide to do this to you?"

"He's a bad cat who's done some bad things to our tribe. It's complicated, kitten."

"So he's a tosser who wants your magic for his own nefarious purposes?"

"In summary, yes."

"That doesn't seem so complicated."

A dark laugh bubbled from Mistoffelees' throat. "Trust me, it's very complicated. If I help him, it will return Mandra to us, but…"

"But?"

"But it might mean the end of everything else."

"Well this is clearly very complicated for my little kitten mind," Tourmaline dryly said. "But dad, what this Macavity needs your magic for… it isn't to kill anyone, is it? Are we talking about the end of London and the end of all life as we know it?"

"No. Not in the least." Mistoffelees wanted to laugh again at the absurdity of it all. It wasn't death that Macavity was after this time, it was life.

"Then… if you decide to help him, even though he's a bad cat who's done bad things, we'll be behind you. We just want our family back. We love you, dad."

His own sob took him by surprise. It clearly took Tourmaline by surprise too, though a moment later she reached for her father as he cried.

"It's okay, dad," she quietly said. Always so quiet this one, and with tears close to the surface in her kitten days. But here she was, taller than him, the quiet shyness replaced by quiet strength. "Everything's going to be okay."

Mistoffelees nodded and ran a paw across his nose. It wasn't going to be okay, but there was no version of him who could ever utter those words to one of his kittens. Instead he hugged her back and whispered, "I love you too, Tourma. Don't worry, I'm going to fix this. I'm going to save our family."

***

Mandragora was not a big cat. It had never really bothered her to be the smallest of the litter—someone had to be the smallest, after all—but aside from being the only one who didn't tower over her father, her size had never been that much of an issue. She could still hunt, and dance, and even though her magic was weak, at least she had magic.

This place, though… this Macavity fellow's lair, well, it certainly did a grand job of making her feel utterly tiny and helpless. Every cat here was bigger than the next one.

Even the queens were hefty. Even that raspy one who liked to hang out around Macavity was taller than most. The one who held her scruff and marched her through the house, he was as big as he was tall and his grip was made of steel.

He stank, but then again the entire house did. Everywhere she was made to turn, there was a tom, a queen, until she probably passed fifty cats before she stopped counting.

The tallest one, Macavity, calmly walked at her side, escorting her to her destination. He'd confused her earlier. Now he repulsed her. To hear what he wanted to do with her father, well… that was an unprecedented sort of evil. And then she recalled her declaration that Macavity could use her magic, and she felt revulsion at what she'd unwittingly offered. At least he hadn't seemed interested in taking her up on the offer.

And the poor kittens that would result from such a union… what was the plan for them?

Mandragora twisted a little in the hench-cat's grasp. He allowed her some slack, enough for her to look askance at Macavity. She wasn't safe here by any means, but for the moment she was a valuable hostage, and that made her feel a little bolder.

"What do you do here?" she asked.

Macavity didn't bother reacting to her for a few long minutes. "Whatever I please."

"But what do all these cats do?"

"They work for me. They handle whatever tasks I give them, and in return I work for them. I care for them and protect them."

Mandragora thought of the cats with the bloodstained fur and tried not to think about what sort of tasks Macavity liked to assign. "I suppose in a sense, I'm working for you now."

Macavity chuckled. They rounded a corner and came to a steep staircase leading down into a basement. A large bureau stood to the left of the stairs. "In a manner, yes you are. And for that reason, you'll be taken care of. Everyone here is taken care of, so long as they don't defy me."

Of course. The large hench-cat nudged her forward, and step by step she was pushed into the basement. It was dusty, smelly, and positively overcrowded with junk. At least pawing through it should keep her entertained.

"You'll be fed," Macavity was saying. His tone was calm and deceptively comforting. She had to give him points for that. "You'll be safe here, as long as you obey."

"But what about my dad? Are you going to hurt him?"

"If he cooperates? Not in the least."

Mandragora nodded meekly, a little more meekly than she truly felt, as the hench-cat released her. No way in Heaviside was her father going to go along with this. But she trusted him enough to know he would have a plan.

She combed through her mane with her claws, smoothing it out, as she watched Macavity walk back up the stairs. Once both cats were out of view, a loud scraping sound filled the staircase and she saw that the bureau had somehow been pushed over the entrance.

Terrific. Mandragora sighed and sat on the nearest blanket, a gray woollen thing with a shredded corner. She was going to be all right. She just hoped her father would be all right too.

Chapter Text

Tugger was a restless sleeper even under the best of circumstances. On a good night, Mistoffelees usually ended up with his mate's arm flung across his neck or a mouthful of mane. On bad nights, Tugger could stir and squirm so much he ended up with his face somewhere in the vicinity of Mistoffelees' toes.

He was heading there tonight. Mistoffelees sighed, his chest heavy. Tugger had fallen asleep easily enough, but he worked through his worries in his sleep, shifting and slapping the blankets with a frown between his brows. Mistoffelees, for his part, worked over his anxiety while fully awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to Tugger grunt and shift.

Just outside their room, Cappella and Aloysius slept. It was too much of a grim reminder for them to return to the den they shared with their sister. He'd offered to let Josephine stay over too, but she'd refused, insisting she was fine, and leaving to return to the den she shared with her brother. At least Cyrano had more sympathy for her than annoyance at the moment. His other kittens had gone back to their dens.

A pity. Mistoffelees had hoped to fill the den with the noise and chatter of his kittens as a distraction from his anxiety. It was too quiet now. He was too free to be alone with his thoughts, alone to pretend to wrestle with a decision he'd probably, on some level, already made.

Tugger suddenly sighed and muttered something, pawing at his ear as though it was the source of all his worries. His furry tail whipped twice and smacked Mistoffelees in the stomach.

Mistoffelees' paw landed on the thick fur, running it through his fingers. He tried to think back to the time when he wasn't mated to Tugger, but the memories seemed impossible to conjure. He remembered doubting himself in the early days, doubting Tugger, he remembered the joy and tears of his first pregnancy, the pain of the second. The happiness and frustration of raising their kittens. He remembered Tugger's kisses, his touches, his tics and quirks and every single reason that made Tugger the only cat he'd ever love.

Mistoffelees swallowed hard, staring at his mate. Tugger ground his teeth and frowned in his sleep. Right there was a cat who would do anything for his kittens.

Shifting on the blankets, Mistoffelees pulled himself a little closer, close enough that he could run his paw along Tugger's face, giving him a gentle little shake. "Tugger…?"

Tugger was normally a fairly heavy sleeper, but worry had robbed him of that particular skill. He frowned again and didn't quite open his eyes as he mumbled, "Whass'happening…?"

"I love you." Mistoffelees punctuated his declaration by kissing his mate. It took Tugger a few seconds to react but soon he kissed back, and before long he was quite awake and pulling Mistoffelees to lie on top of him.

When they pulled apart, Tugger was quite awake. There was no smile on his face but the look of love and trust in his eyes nearly broke Mistoffelees' heart.

"I love you too," Tugger said. His paws caressed his mate's back and rested over the small of his back. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees murmured. "Just… let me."

They kissed again. It wasn't their usual kind of kiss, passionate and full of abandon. Instead it was tempered, loving still, but heavy with the worry and sorrow they shared at the moment.

A soft, stuttered purr rumbled from Tugger's chest as Mistoffelees nuzzled his neck and worked his way lower, raking his claws through Tugger's mane. He followed the supple lines of Tugger's body until he'd reached his goal, finding his mate already hard and ready for him. With a soft purr and a kiss to Tugger's thigh, Mistoffelees took Tugger's erection in his paw and caressed it gently before shifting down so he could take it into his mouth.

Tugger's soft noise of pleasure was intoxicating, and quiet by necessity, given how their kittens were sleeping in the next room. With one paw on the base of Tugger's erection and the other roaming over the heaving black-furred belly of his mate, Mistoffelees worked his lips and tongue and when he felt a shaking paw curl around his, squeezing tightly, he looked up and met Tugger's eyes.

With their paws bound over Tugger's stomach, Mistoffelees held the gaze and focused on every minute twitch and shudder in his mate's face. There came a throbbing against his lips and a fluttering pulse against his tongue and a moment later, Tugger's mouth dropped open in a quiet moan as his seed flooded Mistoffelees' mouth.

He squeezed Tugger's paw and waited until the shuddering gave way to shallow panting and Tugger relaxed on the blankets, but not before tugging on Mistoffelees' paw and urging him up.

"Come here…"

Mistoffelees drew his fingers against his mouth and followed the tug, more than willing to straddle Tugger's body and drape himself over the furry chest.

Everything, every touch and twitch and sight and sound, he committed to memory as though this were the last time he'd ever feel them. The way Tugger's paw curled around his back to hold him close, the way Tugger's lips pressed against his as they kissed, the silkiness of Tugger's mane between his paws, the way Tugger's free paw caressed his chest and found a nipple to roll between fingers until Mistoffelees was shuddering helplessly and grinding his erection into his mate's hip.

Tugger's paw left his chest, found his hardness, and stroked him deliberately. With a choked groan that sounded dangerously close to a sob, Mistoffelees parted their lips and sought refuge in Tugger's mane, burying his face in the familiar warmth and silkiness, breathing in Tugger's scent, committing it to memory. The distraction, coupled with the heaviness in his chest, almost kept his orgasm at bay, at least until Tugger took his curved and exposed neck as invitation and sank his teeth into Mistoffelees' scruff.

The bite took him by surprise and catapulted him over the edge. His face still buried in his mate's mane, Mistoffelees shook and shuddered and came all over Tugger's paw and belly.

Tugger held him until the shudders stopped, and continued to hold him as he fitfully relaxed against his mate's body, paws clenched in the thick mane.

"I love you, Tugger," he murmured. "No matter what, I love you and I love our family."

"I know," Tugger said, perplexed. "I love you too."

Mistoffelees ran his claws through his mate's mane one final time and lifted himself up, pressing a last, deep kiss to Tugger's lips.

"Get yourself cleaned up. I'll be right back."

Tugger's paw tensed against his back. "Where are you going? Stay…"

"I'll be back soon, Tug. I need to go practice something."

Tugger nodded quietly and they shared one last look before Mistoffelees padded out of their room, careful not to wake his sleeping kittens. He gave them one last long look too before exiting the den.

The air was cold but still warmer now that the cold spell had passed. Spring would be around the corner before too long. The Jellicle Ball was ten weeks away. His kittens were old enough to attend now, and Mistoffelees swore Mandragora would be back home in time to dance and forget all about everything.

Mistoffelees walked until he was sure no insomniac Jellicles would wander by. Drawing in a breath and raising his paws, he focused his magic into the same shape he'd previously attempted, conjuring up a tall, curvy, caramel-red queen.

He made her spin around, manipulated her face into a plastic smile, an exaggerated frown, a lusty glare. He made her jump, throw her paws into the air, bend over and lift her tail. The sight made him feel dirty and perverted and he had to remind himself this was only an illusion. He wasn't forcing a real queen into these indecent positions.

"Hello Agatha," he said to the illusionary queen.

He made her look over her shoulder with a smoldering look in her eyes. "Why hello." Shaking his head, Mistoffelees tried again. "Why hello, Macavity."

The voice was mechanical. So were her movements, really. She looked pretty, but there was no substance there, and that was something Macavity would not tolerate even in a real cat. And he would have to imbue her with magic, enough to convince Macavity that she was a worthwhile choice.

Mistoffelees splayed his fingers and Agatha did the same, extending her paw with a blank look on her face. With a bubble of light, a small hummingbird crudely exploded from her paw. It took a few seconds of channeled concentration before Mistoffelees made Agatha's bird look clean and precise, strong enough to fly around.

The hummingbird had barely flitted a few inches above Agatha's paw before Mistoffelees dropped his own paw in exhaustion. This sort of magic was difficult! If he'd enough time, maybe a few months, he could find a way to perfect it. But this…

He dropped his paws, dropped the illusion, and Agatha disappeared for good.

Drained in every way, Mistoffelees dropped to the ground and caught his face in his paws. This illusion queen idea never had a chance of succeeding. He had to try, though, just to convince himself that he'd done everything.

He rocked on his haunches, paws shaking, stomach churning. He felt as though he were stumbling on the edge of a very tall precipice. He could still turn back.

But he wouldn't.

Mistoffelees scrambled to his feet, brushed the snow off his fur, and gathered his remaining strength to teleport.

He reappeared inside a familiar house, taking a moment to steady himself and draw in a breath of cold air. Part of him hated that his kittens' birthplace was Elmsmere Way, but part of him felt soothed by the fact that it had happened in this house, this tiny oasis in the otherwise sullied neighborhood claimed by Macavity, where no evil cats or hench-cats had followed.

There wasn't much evidence left of what had happened here just a few short years ago. His feet kicked up dust as he walked to the front window, avoiding the glass that littered the floor. Tugger had kicked in the window to get to him, not caring for a moment that he could have hurt himself on the glass, his mind focused on his mate and kittens.

Mistoffelees' eyes ached with tears. He turned back to the center of the floor, to the spot he knew he'd lain on, then on a threadbare blanket, laboring and bringing his kittens into the world. He swiped his foot over the dust and noticed rips in the old carpet, the place where his claws had anchored when the pain got bad.

And there, just a few yards away, was a chipped, dusty, discarded teacup. Munkustrap had braved the outside to bring him water. Munkustrap had been there for him. Demeter, Skimble, Tugger… everyone had been there for him.

His family. His friends. They'd loved and cared for and supported him through so much. There was nothing they wouldn't do for him, and in turn there was nothing he wouldn't do for them. For his kittens.

For Mandra.

Mistoffelees walked back to the window, tail whipping as he judged the distance, and leapt up to the broken window, easily avoiding the shards as he slipped through and leapt back down onto the desolate road of Elmsmere Way.

He was barely within sight of Macavity's den when the front door opened with an ominous creak. A pure white cat with stained pink fur stepped out, and as he walked closer Mistoffelees saw it was the queen of the pair, Eris.

She stood with a slightly askew grin on her face and watched him approach. Mistoffelees didn't stop until he was on the porch, two paces away from her, close enough to stare into those cold sharp eyes and to smell the strange tang of her fur. She licked her lips as she stared him down.

"Go get Macavity," Mistoffelees commanded. His decision had emboldened him. "Now."

Eris held his gaze for an uncomfortably long time before turning and slithering back into the house. Mistoffelees' pulse pounded in his ears and the sound of his rapid, ragged breaths filled the air until the door creaked open again and a much taller figure stepped out.

Macavity said nothing, coolly staring down at him with a precisely quirked eyebrow. No hench-cats in sight. He was awfully trusting. And, Mistoffelees thought, holding his chin up and keeping the defeat out of his voice, he had good reason to be trusting. Mistoffelees wondered if the Hidden Paw had been asleep.

He stared back, glaring at the tall red cat who had caused his tribe so much pain and suffering. For a moment, so close to Macavity, he felt a strange burst of power and control. He quelled it before it led him to do anything foolish. He was already about to do something foolish enough.

"All right," Mistoffelees said. "I'll do it."

Chapter Text

Macavity's unreadable eyes were on him for a good, long time. When the Hidden Paw finally decided he'd built enough tension, he smirked knowingly and nodded.

"I'm very glad we could come to an agreement, Mistoffelees. Come inside."

Mistoffelees balled his paws into tight fists, tried his best to keep them from shaking, and followed Macavity inside the house.

The house was different than Mistoffelees remembered. At least, he assumed it was. When he'd first been dragged here, he'd been too frightened and preoccupied to notice his surroundings, and on his way out, he'd been too busy laboring with his kittens to notice much of anything.

There was more activity now, that much he knew. Everywhere he turned there was a tom or a queen. Some slumbered in corners, others were wide awake and pacing the house. Others were huddled, talking, tousling. As they rounded a corner, Mistoffelees saw three toms and a queen savagely tucking into a meal of roast chicken. One of the toms was Bixbite. Mistoffelees shuddered in revulsion.

They passed by a sight that Mistoffelees recognized all too well: the large brown bureau covering the entrance to the basement. A miserable-looking tom stood by the bureau and watched him and Macavity walk by.

"I want to see her," Mistoffelees said, his eyes fastened to the bureau. "I want to talk to her first. Let me see that she's all right."

Macavity's pace came to a gradual halt. He turned on his heel and gave Mistoffelees another long, cold stare.

"All right," he said after a few moments. "Don't ever claim I've not been generous with you."

He followed Macavity to the bureau and watched as he moved it aside with a simple flicker of his wrist, as though it weighed nothing.

Macavity turned to the brown tom. "Vincenzo, you will remain here. If anything comes up those stairs without me, slit its throat. Understood?"

"Y-yes boss," Vincenzo nervously said. The tom's fur was dull and his face looked haggard. Mistoffelees would have felt pity for him, if he hadn't been one of the toms keeping his daughter locked away.

He followed Macavity down the flight of stairs, a sick feeling of familiarity in his gut. It was replaced by numbing relief when he spotted Mandragora, who stood strong in front of a nest of blankets. She was strong. Mistoffelees was proud.

Macavity stood by the bottom step, making it clear the visit was going to end the second he said so.

"Mandra," Mistoffelees gasped. His heart broke as his daughter's composure crumbled and she threw herself into her father's arms.

"Dad!"

"I missed you, kitten!"

"Am I going home?"

He hugged her tighter. His eyes darted around the basement, making sure she had blankets, noting the food and water that had been brought to her. At least Macavity was keeping his word and caring for her.

"Soon, Mandra," he said, taking her by the shoulders and pressing his forehead to hers. "I promise you'll be out of here soon. I'm taking care of everything."

She pulled back, alarmed. "Dad, you're not… I know what he wants, you're not going to…"

"I'm so sorry, Mandra. Please don't hate me."

"Don't… please…" she said weakly. "I'll find a way to escape on my own! Don't do it, please…"

"Just trust me," Mistoffelees said. He pushed the words out before he could give himself time to doubt them. "Trust that I know what I'm doing, okay?"

Mandra pressed her head to his again, defeated. "Oh dad. Don't do this for me…"

"Come."

Macavity's curt voice made them both start. Mistoffelees drew his daughter into his arms, squeezing the breath out of her. Once he was out of here, he was going to hug her every single day. "I love you, Mandra. Keep yourself safe. You'll be out of here soon."

He let her slip from his arms, and as much as it tore his heart apart to do it, he turned and followed Macavity back up the stairs.

Mistoffelees waited awkwardly as Macavity spoke to the brown tom by the basement entrance, and made him move aside as he used magic to drag the bureau back into place. That was the sort of magic Mistoffelees could do now, he thought fumingly. He could probably destroy that damn bureau now with a bolt of energy. But there was no way he was bringing Macavity down with his little zaps.

Instructions given, Macavity fixed his gaze on the smaller tom. Mistoffelees braced himself, though for what he wasn't quite sure. He supposed he expected Macavity to toss him over his shoulder and drag him to his bed while cackling, but the Hidden Paw merely cocked his head in the direction of the corridor and said, "Follow me."

The masses of queens and toms thinned out as they walked down the corridor. It was a relief, as with every step Mistoffelees felt more and more as though the hench-cats knew exactly why he'd come here, what his purpose was in dutifully following Macavity to his bed.

When they got to Macavity's room, Cesare stood by the entrance, smiling icily, his sister Eris grinning at his side. They stepped aside to let their master in and Cesare made a great show of sniffing the air lecherously as Mistoffelees walked by.

"No one interrupts us," Macavity said to the twins, and the moment Mistoffelees was inside, he shut the door.

Mistoffelees wasn't sure what to expect from Macavity's sleeping area. He'd made himself a nest of cushions and blankets, nothing peculiar or ostentatious, and the room was otherwise bare. It looked clean and smelled of Macavity, and no one else. Mistoffelees wasn't sure why that surprised him. Somehow he'd pictured Macavity dragging over and rutting a new cat every night.

It was strange to imagine someone like Macavity resting here, vulnerable in sleep. What did he think about before he drifted off? Did he ever relax, even for a moment? Did he think of books, of his favourite foods, did he practice his magic for the fun of it, did he enjoy music or dancing? What did he dream of?

Kittens, evidently, Mistoffelees mused. He dreamt of heirs, that much was obvious. He wondered if Macavity had ever been around kittens. Did he have siblings? Bast, he had parents, and he obviously had been a kitten himself once. What sort of child had Macavity been?

The Hidden Paw was busy circling the room, and when his little inspection was complete and he seemed satisfied, he came to a halt uncomfortably close to Mistoffelees. He swallowed; he'd forgotten how tall Macavity was.

"I've instructed Vincenzo, Eris, Cesare—everyone—that if any harm should come to me while you are here, your daughter will be killed. And it will not be quick."

"Stop," Mistoffelees said, his stomach churning at those sinister, casual words.

"It's reality," Macavity said cryptically. "I don't care for violence. But I certainly understand the need for it."

Mistoffelees scoffed. "You have a strange way of showing you don't care for violence."

He wondered if the comment crossed a line, but Macavity grinned. "All a means to an end, Mistoffelees. When this is over, we'll get both what we want."

"Do I have to stay here with you until the kittens are born?" Mistoffelees asked curtly.

"No," Macavity said. Mistoffelees blinked; that was not the answer he expected. "You may return to your junkyard, so long as you keep my kittens healthy and come here when the time comes to bear them."

"Are you also going to let Mandra go the moment we're done here?"

Macavity's grin widened. "Well that would be quite foolish of me, wouldn't it? Do you think I would risk any harm to my kittens, after you get what you want? No, your runt will stay with me until this litter is born and brought to me, alive and healthy."

Mistoffelees started. What did Macavity mean by any harm, specifically? He swallowed hard, and said, "Then… you need to know something."

Macavity gave him an impassive look.

"I was pregnant a second time, but I miscarried the kittens a little under a year ago."

"Miscarried," Macavity said evenly.

He couldn't tell if Macavity was simply repeating the point, or if he didn't know what the term meant. "I lost them. They died inside me. I-I don't know what caused it, it just happened. So… so if I miscarry your kittens through no fault of my own, what then…?"

Macavity stared at him for a few long minutes. "Then you will return to me, and we will repeat this little ritual until you have given me my heirs."

Mistoffelees nodded numbly. This was going to happen, then. He stood stiffly, ready for the ordeal to begin, and flinched when Macavity raised a paw. There came no blow, no slap, no move to throw him across the room and onto the bed. Instead, Macavity cupped his jaw, lifting it slightly, and buried his nose in the exposed neck.

Macavity had been obsessed with his scent before and it seemed it was still the case. Clenching his paws, Mistoffelees let the other cat have his way, inhaling his scent, running a rough tongue along the delicate curve of his neck. If this worked to get it all done faster, then so be it. Mistoffelees stole a downward glance and nervously noticed that Macavity's length was slowly thickening.

So far it was all quite gentle, and Mistoffelees wasn't sure what to make of it. Macavity's paw pressed against Mistoffelees' chest, inadvertently palming a nipple, and Mistoffelees couldn't help the shudder that ran through his body. Any hope that Macavity hadn't noticed the reaction was gone as he lifted his head from Mistoffelees' neck and gave him a curious, amused look.

Mistoffelees held his breath. To his dismay, Macavity dragged his paw against his nipple, rolling it beneath the thick pad of his thumb. His efforts to hold his reaction in only served to make his inevitable moan louder. He pulled his body away on instinct and realized with horror that he was getting excited.

With a wicked grin, Macavity rolled the nipple one last time and reached down to give him a firm squeeze, sharp burning eyes boring into his the whole way. "No, stop-" Mistoffelees gasped, before realizing it was rather futile to protest. He'd already given his consent, even if it was under duress.

Macavity chuckled knowingly. "Get on the bed."

Swallowing hard and fighting the urge to cup his paws in front of himself, Mistoffelees obeyed and padded over the bed, crawling over the blankets. He hesitated, balancing on all fours, before deciding he'd rather stick with the undignified position and avoid having to see too much of Macavity. He pressed his cheek to the blankets, his stomach churning anew, and lifted his rear in the air, flicking his tail out of the way.

The blankets shifted as Macavity crawled behind him. There were only two sounds in the room: Mistoffelees' ragged, nervous breaths, and the soft wet sound of Macavity stroking himself, preparing himself for what was to come. Mistoffelees pressed his face harder to the blankets, doing his damnest to block out everything—the scent of Macavity on the blankets, the sounds of Macavity touching himself, the inevitable discomfort of what was to come.

He nearly jumped and yelped as Macavity placed his paws on his rear, touching him a little tentatively. Mistoffelees wasn't sure what to make of it; the touch was a little hesitant, squeezing his rear, stroking his lower back. It wasn't unpleasant, and perhaps that was exactly what made it so disturbing.

Macavity's paws wandered over to his hips, and suddenly Mistoffelees was self-conscious about Macavity's hands on his body. No tom but Tugger had ever touched him, and no tom but Tugger knew the imperfections of his body. Macavity's paws roamed until they pressed against the soft, loose skin of the smaller tom's belly.

Mistoffelees shuddered and tried to squirm away, a difficult task when squirming away from the paws made his buttocks bump against Macavity's erection. The thing already felt huge and violating.

Macavity's paws fondled his stomach for a few more moments before moving lower and briefly stroking the tux's softening erection. The touch wasn't enough to arouse him and Macavity didn't seem to care, anchoring one paw in Mistoffelees' hip while the other paw slid off his body.

He knew was what coming. He tensed, face buried in the blankets, trying to block out the reality of Macavity shifting just a little bit closer, erection in paw, until the thing was relentlessly pressing at his entrance.

Mistoffelees bit the blankets and whimpered, as the pressure quickly became a sharp spike of pain. Macavity pressed all the way in, tightening his hold on Mistoffelees' hips, and pulled back out, leaving a fiery pain behind.

Relax. Bast, just relax! Mistoffelees stifled a groan of pain and tried to force his shaking lungs to draw in a slow breath, trying to will his tense muscles to relax a bit, to give himself a little bit of relief until this was done. He hoped Macavity wasn't a prodigious lover; the sooner he spent himself inside Mistoffelees' body, the better.

The thrusts became harder, faster, and Mistoffelees gave up on trying to relax, bunching the blankets tightly in his claws, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth felt ready to crack.

He almost missed it when Macavity spoke. "You – enjoyed it when you made your first litter?"

"What?" Mistoffelees hissed. What kind of question was that?

And suddenly it dawned on him. Macavity wanted him to conceive successfully, and that meant recreating all elements that may have been responsible for his previous pregnancies. Magic, of course, along with the Jellicle Moon, were huge factors. But something told him the magic here was strong enough to make this happen without any outside help.

He thought about lying, because he didn't want to deal with the shame of having an orgasm in Macavity's presence, but maybe it had been a factor the other times, and he had to grudgingly admit that he did want this to be a successful mating.

"Oh…" he ground out, wincing in discomfort. Macavity was big, about as big as Tugger, but his thrusts were rough and careless. "Yes, I… I did."

"What will it take for you to enjoy it?" Macavity asked through halting breaths. It was strange, Mistoffelees thought, to hear Macavity in such a borderline-vulnerable state. But he had no allusions; Macavity was not vulnerable, ever.

He was only half-hard, an instinctive reaction more than anything. Macavity wouldn't be pleased until he came, so he would have to work at it somehow.

Mistoffelees unlatched one tense paw from the blanket and, struggling for balance with Macavity still thrusting at him, slid the fingers into his mouth to moisten them before reaching down to caress his nipples.

The contact made him gasp, and a few rolls and pinches did convince his member to reluctantly harden, but the whole situation soon made any sensation of pleasure turn to pain. Mistoffelees groaned in frustration and reached for his erection, pumping it a few times, though he had to stop both because it wasn't working, and because Macavity's thrusts were knocking him off-balance.

He clenched his claws back into the blanket and, grudgingly, resorted to his final option.

"Bite me," Mistoffelees said in a weak voice. "Bite my scruff."

Macavity chuckled, maybe a little incredulously, but obeyed the instruction, slowing his pace for a moment. Mistoffelees felt intense heat all along his back as Macavity leaned over him, fastening his teeth into his scruff and pulling hard.

The bite was harder than anything Tugger had ever attempted. To Mistoffelees' horror, he reacted more intensely as well, unable to hold back a loud groan as his body shuddered with excitement. Macavity's teeth stopped shy of breaking the skin. He straightened up, forcing Mistoffelees to straighten with him. With his teeth in the smaller tom's scruff and his paws clasping his hips, Macavity resumed his pace.

This felt dirty. More so than being fondled and penetrated, this felt like a violation, because this was something he'd discovered with Tugger, something that gave him so much pleasure, and to have another cat do it to him made him feel sullied.

Still, it was working, and as he felt Macavity's thrust become short and erratic, the bigger cat's breaths hot and heavy against his scruff, Mistoffelees took his erection in his paw again and stroked, trying to concentrate hard enough to climax. He finally managed a brief, unpleasant orgasm, spilling himself onto the blanket and tightening despite himself around Macavity's length.

Evidently his orgasm was all Macavity had been waiting for. Two more hard thrusts and the Hidden Paw was done, jerking soundlessly as Mistoffelees felt the burning seed spreading inside him.

It took a few long, painful minutes before Macavity finally pulled out of him, leaving a burning ache behind. Bit by bit Mistoffelees relaxed, unclenching his paws, relaxing his jaw, getting breath back into cramped lungs. His scruff felt sore and the less said about his rear, the better.

He let Macavity get to his feet, clean himself off, do whatever he wanted before Mistoffelees turned around to face him. It was only when the sound of movement stopped and Macavity curtly said "Rise" that he moved, gingerly crawling off the blankets and back onto his feet.

He felt weak, shaky, sick. Macavity looked poised, not a strand of fur out of place. He met Macavity's eyes and the returned gaze was impassive. "How long until you know?"

Mistoffelees drew in a shaky breath. "Soon. Within the week."

"I am letting you return to your junkyard as a favour. I expect you to return here the moment you know. You will either prove to me that you are carrying my kittens, or we will repeat what we've just done until you do. Am I clear?"

"Yes."

No more needed to be said, and Macavity headed to the door, nodding to Eris and Cesare as he left. It wasn't clear if Mistoffelees was being left to his own devices to leave the house and return home, but it hardly mattered at this point. There was nothing he could do in a house surrounded by hench-cats and magic.

But still…

But still, he tried. Macavity and the twins were gone. Mistoffelees closed his eyes, pictured the basement, pictured Mandragora, and gathered his energy to teleport.

For a moment, there was no resistance, and Mistoffelees felt the familiar sideways pitch as his magic prepared to bend space and bring him to his destination. But before his body could leave the room, a force like a full-body slap nearly sent him stumbling onto his arse.

Mistoffelees whimpered, placing his paws on his knees and struggling for breath. Of course Macavity would have wards in place to prevent him from swooping in and teleporting Mandra away. Of course he'd have thought of everything. Damn him.

Tears prickled at his eyes as he hurried out of Macavity's room, past the queens and toms littering the house. He saw no sign of Macavity.

The moment he was outside, Mistoffelees practically ran to the only place in Elmsmere Way that made him feel safe, propelling his aching body until he'd reached the house where he'd given birth to his kittens, leaping in through the broken window.

Once inside, he tongue-bathed himself to remove Macavity's scent until he retched and when he was done, fell to all fours on the cold floor of the room.

He stared at his paws, tensely clenching against the floor, until he realized the darkness of the room had been joined by a faint, silvery glow.

Mistoffelees squeezed his eyes shut, dangerously close to tears. When he opened them again, the sparkling had reached his arms, tiny dots of magical light illuminating his black fur, heralding something he'd planned, but did not want.

It was done.

Chapter Text

Mistoffelees sat on an upturned flowerpot, staring mindlessly across the junkyard as the sun set. The stink of burnt wood and ruined dens had finally dissipated and, slowly but surely, the Jellicles who'd lost their homes began to recover.

It meant a few were still temporarily rooming with others, until the weather softened enough for proper construction to begin. Bombalurina and Pouncival had managed to squeeze into Etcetera and Tumblebrutus' den; Old Deuteronomy, now back at the vicarage, kindly offered to let Jellylorum and Gus stay in his den; and Tourmaline and Verismo were now playing host to Cassandra and Alonzo.

Time moved on, but Mistoffelees felt as though he were frozen, in a tiny pocket of time he controlled until he chose to crawl out of it.

He'd taken to waking up early and sitting outside by himself, taking a few rare moments to drop the mask and let the stress and anxiety seep through. Tugger assumed he was practicing magic and didn't disturb him.

It had been five days since Macavity, five days since he'd returned after tongue-bathing himself raw before getting within sight of Tugger, who was still convinced his mate was working on a magical solution to the issue of Mandra's captivity. Mistoffelees allowed the delusion; the longer Tugger could feel peace, the better. Bast only knew Mistoffelees didn't feel an ounce of peace; fear and guilt over what he'd done had settled into cold nausea in the pit of his stomach.

Tugger trusted him. His kittens trusted him. The tribe loved and supported him, united in the tragedy that followed Jezebel's death.

Mistoffelees drew in a shaky breath and curled his arms around himself. The wind was cold and a headache pulsed between his ears. He hadn't felt well ever since he'd returned from Elmsmere Way, but that could be attributed as much to stress as to a certain condition. It would probably be possible for someone to tell him for certain if he was pregnant, now. Still, he put it off as long as possible. Everything would be destroyed once he found out, either way.

The sun huddled behind the horizon, and soon Mistoffelees was no longer alone. The clang and clatter of the junkyard waking up kept him company, and before long he spotted Plato in the distance, off in search of something to hunt for breakfast. Tumblebrutus and Etcetera followed shortly, and Bombalurina was not far behind. Cyrano darted by, pausing to confirm that his father was still sitting on the flowerpot, and ran off again to hunt.

Mistoffelees had to resist the urge to hide his face when he saw his kittens now. What would they think of him, once they learned what he'd done? They would hate him. They wouldn't understand. No one would understand.

Tourmaline and Verismo walked past, and Mistoffelees was grateful that they didn't look his way. Tourmaline should have been the one to be thinking of kittens with her new mate. Kittens were something to celebrate. This abomination he'd started was not.

What have I done? Bast, what have I-

"Misto?"

It was Electra, waiting politely until she got his attention before padding over with a smile. "May I sit with you?"

Mistoffelees probably would have rebuffed anyone else, but Electra's presence was comforting. Of all the queens, she and Demeter were his closest friends, and Electra's closeness with Augusta meant she was around a lot. She had a quiet and kind manner. He could use that right now.

He nodded to a crate next to him. "Of course. Is Augusta still asleep?"

"Out hunting," Electra said, settling down by his side. She looked at him for a few moments and said, "I was hoping to talk to you alone. How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"You look a bit tired today."

"I feel tired," Mistoffelees sighed. He flattened his ears as he rubbed his eyes; his headache was worsening, and now it was difficult to focus his eyes. His stomach was unsettled and his head felt light. Maybe he'd just put off breakfast too long.

"I know it's a difficult time, I… If you'd like me to speak with you later-"

"No, please. I'm fine, Electra. What did you want to talk about? Is everything all right with you and Augusta?"

Electra giggled. She didn't laugh all that often, and it was surprising, but not unpleasant. "Oh, Misto! Yes, everything is fine. In fact, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Well, to ask you. In a manner of speaking. I know that, with everything that's happening right now, it's a strange time to be asking this, but… the Jellicle Ball is about nine weeks away."

Mistoffelees idly pressed his fingers against the ache in his head, waiting for her to explain the non sequitur. "Yes?

"And Augusta and I…" Electra fiddled with her claws before continuing. "Misto, we've been friends a long time, you and I. I always looked up to you, when I was a kitten, and… well, you've always been there for me, and I love you for it. I know it may seem strange that I'm asking you, but… I don't want there to be anything strange between us, because…"

Despite his headache, Mistoffelees smiled. "Maybe you should just go ahead and say it."

"I was hoping to take Augusta as my mate and to dance our union at the next Jellicle Ball. Ah!" Electra clapped a paw over her mouth, stunned that she'd managed to press the words out.

"That's what I imagined you were trying to say."

A smile peeked out from behind Electra's paw. "And you're okay with it?"

"Augusta is a grown queen," Mistoffelees said, as much as it twisted his heart to admit that his kittens were no longer his kittens. "She doesn't need my permission to become mates with the queen she's loved all this time. But if she did need my permission, I would give it in a heartbeat. I can't think of anyone who'd love her more than you, Electra."

Electra's smile became watery and she gathered Mistoffelees into a hug. "We're family now, Misto! We're going to… oh, we're going to have the entire family back with us for the Jellicle Ball, you'll see."

Mistoffelees shut his eyes and squeezed her back. If he had his way, then they would indeed have the entire family together for the Jellicle Ball, though it remained to be seen how intact their family would be.

As he pulled away from the hug, a burst of dizziness made him lean to the side and nearly pitch off the flowerpot. Electra caught him by the arms.

"Easy there! Misto, are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees weakly said. He held on to her arms and shifted until his paws touched the ground. Despite the coolness of the evening, he felt awfully warm. "I-I'm just… I'm a little tired and I missed breakfast."

"Just sit down," Electra said. Her voice seemed tinny and distant. "You've been under so much stress… I'll bring you something to eat, just don't—Misto!"

He swayed on his feet, vision greying. He had the strangest impression of his body limply collapsing against Electra's before it blinked out of existence.

***

Waking up felt like wading through thick mud. Technically, Mistoffelees regained consciousness before being shaken, lifted, and placed down on a soft bed, but he felt too weak and sluggish to really pay attention to what was being said or done to him. It was only when a cold cloth was pressed to his head that things came back into focus and the distant voices became clear.

"—pletely normal, yes. Oh, I know it's a little alarming."

"A bit, yes. I hope Tugger gets here soon!"

"I know, dear, I really… oh, I do believe he's returning to us. Misto?"

Jenny and Electra were here with him, and Tugger was not. Not yet. He cracked open his aching eyes, noted he was in Jenny's den, and ran his tongue over his parched lips. "I'm awake," he rasped.

"You gave us a fright!" Jenny said, pressing the cold cloth down with one paw and petting his headfur with the other.

"I'm sorry."

Electra sat on the bed by his side, taking his paw. "I'm only glad I caught you before you hit the ground."

He squeezed Electra's paw, then used it as leverage to sit up. The coolness on his forehead helped with the headache, but the churning in his stomach wasn't getting any better. He groaned softly, gathering his legs close to his chest and dropping his face on top of his knees.

Jenny's paw resumed its petting. She seemed to be thrumming with excitement, and the thought only made Mistoffelees want to sink his head farther into the crook of his knees.

"Now that you're awake," Jenny said grandly. "I can tell you you're going to be just fine, and that I know the reason you fainted."

"You do?" Mistoffelees peeked at her. She was smiling broadly.

"Oh, my sweet dear! I'm sorry—I know this is a strange time for such news, but I suppose we could use all the happiness we can at the moment. When I was examining you, I couldn't help but notice your scent. It's faint, but- you're pregnant!" Jenny finished the announced with a happy giggle.

"Congratulations, Misto," Electra said sweetly. She tried to take his paw again but he made a point not to squeeze back.

He knew it. Had expected it, and yes, a desperate part of him had hoped for it, because it brought him one step closer to ending this nightmare, but… He swallowed thickly and felt hot tears pooling in his eyes. He'd done it. He was pregnant with Macavity's kittens.

"J… Jenny?" he asked weakly.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I'm going to be sick."

Jenny had a practiced hand, and within seconds she found a clay bowl and held it before him as he shuddered and vomited into it. Still at his side, Electra gasped.

"It's all right, it's all right," Jenny cooed, rubbing the back of his neck as he coughed pitifully over his bowl, throat burning. "You poor thing. This is rather the same way you reacted the first time we discovered you were pregnant, do you remember? How funny that such good news is always met with an upset stomach!"

Mistoffelees only moaned. Oh Everlasting, if only she knew. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wishing to stare into the bowl, not wanting to meet Electra or Jenny's eyes either. They were so happy. How could he do this to them?

"Is he here? Jenny! Hello?"

"Dad?"

Mistoffelees shut his eyes tighter. How could he do this to his family?

The loud crash of the den door and the frantic stomping heralded his mate's arrival, followed by the quieter footsteps of one of his daughters. Mistoffelees cracked an eye open and pitifully looked up. Tugger barged into the room, with Augusta close behind.

"Misto! What's wrong?" Tugger froze for a second, probably spying the bowl and hesitating at the idea of getting too close to potential vomit, but his concern quickly won out. He carefully settled himself down on the bed next to Mistoffelees' curled-up, trembling body and petted his shoulder.

"Just a touch of illness," Jenny said, and Mistoffelees could practically hear the smile in her voice, thrilled to know what she assumed to be a happy secret. She took the bowl from his lap, no doubt waiting for him to announce the news to Tugger.

He couldn't. He couldn't say it. He wanted to lie to them all, pretend the kittens were Tugger's, or pull Jenny aside and swear her to secrecy while he found a way to rid his body of the kittens and pretend it had never happened. But, Everlasting! He had to go through with this! How else was he going to get Mandragora back? He was too weak to fight Macavity, with claws or with magic. This was the only solution. He had to go through with this.

Curling his knees up closer to his chest, Mistoffelees whimpered softly and again hid his face into the space between his knees. Tugger was still rubbing his back, surely worried out of his mind. Mistoffelees made a point to enjoy the tenderness; he had the dreadful feeling it was the last of the sort he would feel from Tugger for a long while, if not forever.

When Mistoffelees spoke, his voice was raspy from his earlier sickness. "Electra… Augusta… I'm sorry, could you please give us a few moments alone?"

Augusta crossed her arms. "But Dad, what's wrong?"

"Listen to your father," Tugger said, not fully understanding, but understanding his mate's desire for privacy. "We'll meet you at home later."

Tugger searched Mistoffelees' eyes for a confirmation that this plan worked. Mistoffelees only blinked miserably.

"Do you want me to leave too?" Jenny asked softly as Electra dragged a reluctant Augusta outside.

Mistoffelees considered it for a moment and shook his head. He would need Jenny to help him through this pregnancy, and the sooner she knew the truth about how it had come to pass, the better. It would avoid him having to go through this conversation multiple times.

"All right." Jenny waited a few more tortuous moments, before asking, with a tender smile, "Misto, would you like me to tell him for you?"

She must have assumed his stomach was still upset, that it was the cause of his near-catatonic state. He nodded in reply, drawing in a shaky breath. Time to get it over with.

"Tell me what-?" Tugger started to ask, cutting himself off with a small gasp.

No one could say that Tugger was slow on the uptake. There weren't many reasons why Mistoffelees being sick to his stomach would leave Jenny looking so happy.

"Misto, are… are you pregnant?" he asked. Jenny's small giggle was confirmation enough. A second later Tugger enveloped him in a gentle, but still enthusiastic hug. "You are! I should have known—your fur looks beautiful! I-I… oh love, you've been looking so drained this week, on top of everything else…"

Oh Everlasting. He was rigid against Tugger's embrace, dragging his paws up to hide his face.

Tugger tightened the hug. "Misto, you're shaking. Hey, it's all right. I know this isn't the best time, but it's still great news. Sure we didn't mean to make kittens, but… I promise you, Mandra will be back in time to meet them."

Mistoffelees could only shake his head. His throat felt tight, and for a moment he wasn't sure if he was going to hack up or stop breathing.

"Would you happen to know when this litter was made?" Jenny innocently asked.

"Oh… well… you must be at least three weeks along, right Misto?"

"No," Mistoffelees whimpered. Tugger's pure joy was making this even more horrible.

"Longer than that? I think you'd be bigger if it-"

"No!" The cry made Tugger and Jenny jump in shock. It took a few strangled sobs before Mistoffelees could get his next words out. "They're not yours, Tugger."

Jenny's paws flew to her mouth. Mistoffelees saw her out of the corner of his eye, but his gaze was locked on Tugger.

Tugger, whose eyes registered confusion, anger, and hurt, followed by a slump of his body that showed the very moment his heart broke.

"You didn't," Tugger said faintly.

"I agreed to Macavity's deal. One week ago. I had to, Tugger, I'm-"

Tugger drew away from him as though burnt, paws shaking violently. "You went to him? He touched you? He mated with you?"

"It's all I could do, I had to do it for Mandra, I-"

"And now you're pregnant?"

"I'm sorry Tug, I-I-"

Tugger shot to his feet, running out of the den without a glance back, as though ready to hack up.

Panicked, Mistoffelees watched his mate hurry away and he yelled the only thing he could think of: "I love you! Tug, please…"

His mate was gone. The nausea began to creep back up his throat and Mistoffelees covered his mouth with a whimper.

With a weary sigh, Jenny handed him the bowl again. With nothing left to bring up, all he could do was cough and gag miserably.

"Mistoffelees, you're going to have to explain to me what's going on," Jenny said sternly. "Because it cannot be what it sounds like."

Mistoffelees drew in a few ragged breaths and spat into the bowl. "It's exactly what it sounds like."

"Did… did Macavity force you?"

He could have laughed, if the situation wasn't so damn miserable. "Yes, technically. Oh, he left me a choice. It was either mate with him and give him kittens, or… or Mandra was going to end up like Jezebel."

Jenny recoiled, smothering her mouth with her paw. "Mistoffelees. Don't say such things."

"Macavity made his intentions very clear. I've been lying to Tugger all week, you know. I told him I had a plan to get Mandra back using my magic. Well, technically it's true."

Mistoffelees laughed bitterly. A moment later the sound dissolved into pitiful sobs. "It's my bloody magic. It's always been my bloody magic he wants. Macavity wants magical kittens, that's all. That's all I can do for him. So is this really so terrible?"

He met Jenny's eyes. She stared back, her expression unreadable, until he saw the tears pooling in her eyes. She wasn't made of stone. "Oh, my poor sweet dear…"

"In nine weeks it'll all be over," Mistoffelees said. He was verging on hysteria, his paws shaking as he held the bowl in his lap. "I'll just have this kitten and bring it to him and he'll give me mine back. We can pretend this all never happened."

"That's going to be difficult," Jenny gently said. "What do you plan on telling your family? What about Tugg-"

"I should go," Mistoffelees murmured. He handed Jenny the bowl and struggled to slide his legs off the bed. They felt like stones. "Thank you for taking care of me, Jenny."

She pressed her paw to his shoulder in an attempt to keep him on the bed. "Misto, you should wait. It's not unusual to faint when pregnant. But it could mean something isn't quite right and-"

"Point noted. I'm still leaving."

"Considering the nature of this pregnancy-"

"I know, Jenny. I know. And don't tell anyone! Not yet."

"I won't. But you need to come back and see me. Tomorrow. This is very unusual, and I need to make sure you're all right."

"You're certainly optimistic," Mistoffelees muttered. He managed to get his feet under him. Probably he looked as awful as he felt right now, disheveled and nauseated, and he concentrated on getting his legs to work, getting him on his way out of Jenny's den. Things were not going to be all right for a very, very long time.

***

Bloody hell.

Bloody Everlasting hell.

Tugger had no words for company, only his irregular gasping breaths and his thumping heart as he stomped to the farthest end of the junkyard, away from Jenny's den, away from his mate.

He ended up near the south side of the yard, where the fire had eaten away at junk piles and various bits of scrap. It still smelled like that awful day when this nightmare began.

Tugger walked until he reached the very edge of the yard, where the fence was still burnt, and turned back, pacing erratically, tail whipping and fur bristling. Panic was close. Panic and heartbreak. How? How could Misto…?

How could his mate…?

Could they even still be called mates at this point…?

His mate was pregnant…

… with Macavity's kittens.

"Aargh!" Tugger roared, clenching and unclenching his paws until his claws dug deep into his palms. Mistoffelees always knew how to calm him from a panic, but he was alone now. He was alone. He was going to get used to being alone.

His heart thundered against his chest. It was getting difficult to breathe. Tugger whipped around, caught sight of the nearest object, and funneled the entirety of his anger into a hard punch to the side of a half-burnt wooden crate.

His paw went straight through it. Splinters dug into his skin, embedded themselves into his fur. Again and again he struck the crate, picturing Macavity, picturing his hurt and betrayal, until his paw felt raw and aching and the splinters drew blood.

Yanking his fist free, Tugger collapsed to the cold ground. He clasped a paw over his mouth and sobbed long and deep.

Chapter Text

Sleep did not come easily. Mistoffelees only realized he fell asleep at some point because he startled himself awake, blinking in the darkness and profoundly aware that he was alone in the den.

He hadn't seen Tugger since his storm-out of Jenny's den. He hadn't even seen his kittens. He'd avoided them all in favour of locking himself up in his den, burrowed under every blanket he could drag over, a pitiful shield against the horrors of the outside world. He'd hoped that sleep would tear him away from his depressing reality, give him refuge and faint spots of hope in dreams far-removed from the waking world, but sleep had been cold, and now Mistoffelees swallowed hard against his rising nausea.

Of course, the sickness was beginning already. He'd assumed another pregnancy would be easier, since his body already knew what to do, and his second (though tragically short) pregnancy had not left him feeling so bad. It was an appropriate, ill omen of things to come.

Mistoffelees sat up, still huddled in his blankets, too hollow and numb to cry or scream or do anything but clench his jaw against the uncomfortable feeling in his belly. It took a long time before he brought himself to cast off the blankets and unsteadily rise to his feet. It was the last thing he wanted to do right now, but he needed to talk to Tugger. He doubted his mate would listen to reason, but rumours would start flying soon, and he needed to know what, if anything, Tugger had revealed while angrily stomping around.

And then, he would need to talk to his kittens. Never mind Tugger; talking to his kittens about what he'd done was the last thing he wanted to do.

That, and be pregnant with Macavity's kittens. Okay, so there were a lot of things that happened to be the last thing he wanted to do.

The cold air outside the den was bracing, providing Mistoffelees and his unsettled stomach with some scant relief. It wasn't snowing and the setting sun bounced brightly off the quiescent snow. It took Mistoffelees' eyes a moment to adjust to the strangely bright twilight. And then he spotted it.

The shape of a tom, fur and mane in disarray, breath misting in the cold air, huddled on a nearby piece of broken furniture. The snow crunched dully beneath Mistoffelees' paws as he forced himself to approach the huddled, miserable tom.

"Tugger? Have you been here all night?"

Snow and ice had collected on Tugger's mane, giving Mistoffelees his answer. Tugger didn't even try to meet his eyes, glassily staring at a piece of jagged ice on the ground.

Mistoffelees waited for his mate to answer, spotting with alarm the wooden splinters and rusty spots of dried blood in the fur of Tugger's right paw. "What happened? Did you hurt yourself?"

Again, Tugger's entire world seemed focused on staring at the little piece of ice. Mistoffelees tried a different approach. "Have you seen any of the kittens?"

A slow, distracted shake of the head was all Tugger spared as an answer. Mistoffelees rubbed his brow; the headache was back, and even the cold air wasn't doing much to quell his nausea anymore. He had no patience for Tugger's dramatics right now, not when he felt light-headed, and had a dozen things to deal with. He began to walk past Tugger as he spoke. "Okay. We're not speaking. Terrific. Look, I need to go talk to Jenny about something, and then I have to-"

"Why?"

When Tugger spoke, his voice had the croak of someone who'd either spent a good amount of time screaming, or had remained silent for hours. Probably a combination of both. In that order. It had the effect of stopping Mistoffelees in his tracks. He clenched his fists and slowly turned to his mate. "Tugger. Let's not start this. You know exactly why."

"You went to him." Tugger spoke slowly, as though enumerating points he'd gone over and over in his head already. Likely he had. "You walked right up to the house, you went to him, you let him touch you, you let him mate with you, you let him put his seed inside you…"

"Stop it…" Being forced to revisit the memories was not helping Mistoffelees' nausea.

"Why would you let him do that?" Tugger sounded genuinely bewildered.

Mistoffelees clenched his jaw, releasing a small hiss of aggravation. "Because he promised me my daughter back. That's all, Tug. It's just… it's just an agreement. A deal."

"You're pregnant. You're going to give birth to his kittens—Everlasting, they're your kittens too! You're going to leave them to him? You call that a deal?"

"If it gets us Mandra back? Yeah, I call that a deal."

Tugger's attention finally drifted from the piece of ice to Mistoffelees' eyes. He looked as exhausted as he sounded. "Did you see her?"

Mistoffelees swallowed hard, nausea pulsing in his stomach. It was difficult to call on denial to keep his guilt at bay when Tugger actually looked him in the eye. "I did. She's all right. A little rattled, but she's strong. She's… she's going to wait until this is done and she's going to be fine."

This. As though it were a simple, inconsequential task. As though it weren't nine weeks of hell, a birth that might very well destroy him, and an act that was already tearing his family apart.

"So you were there. In his den. You were right there, you saw Mandra. And you didn't get her back?"

Hot, guilty tears welled in Mistoffelees' eyes. "You think I didn't try!? Everlasting hell, Tugger! Do you think my magic stands a chance against Macavity? Do you think I would have stood a chance, cartwheeling in there with a wooden stick trying to fight off his army of damn henchcats? He's got dozens in there now!"

"But why this!?" Tugger finally found emotion other than bland bewilderment; unfortunately, it was anger. He bared his fangs, bolting to his paws and snarling barely a foot away from Mistoffelees. "This is a betrayal! You snuck off while I was sleeping, mated with Macavity, and came back pregnant!"

They shouldn't be having this discussion here. Mistoffelees knew that, even had the vague impression of movement around them, that they were beginning to attract attention by screaming, but he was too far-gone to stand down now. "Piss off, Tugger! Did I have a choice? I'd rather do this than wait for him to kill or maim my daughter!"

"I thought you were better than this! You were supposed to be strong! Magical! The tom I fell in love with!"

Mistoffelees growled back. His head was spinning, but rage proved to be a very good stabilizer. "I'm sorry, I don't remember the part where you swooped in to fight him and rescue Mandra. Wouldn't want anything to get in the way of you sitting on your precious tail and letting others take care of things!"

Tugger snarled, and from the corner of his eye Mistoffelees saw his claws twitch. He was clearly fighting not to lash out. "I can't fight him; how the hell do you think that would turn out?"

"Well, what makes you think I can fight him?" Mistoffelees hissed. "What makes you think there was anything I could do except… except-" He cut himself off with a groan as the ground began to sway beneath his feet.

"Except what? Give in to him the second he begged you to mate with him?"

"Tugger, please. I really don't feel-" Spots began to dance in his vision, a telltale sign that he was about to faint again. His knees buckled and Tugger instinctively caught him, and Mistoffelees buried his face in the crook of Tugger's arm, despite Tugger being one of the last toms he wanted to see right now.

It was suddenly a struggle to stay conscious. He did, but the near-fall left his stomach feeling even more unsettled. Mistoffelees stuck a paw over his mouth as his stomach convulsed, but it wasn't enough to stop him from vomiting all over Tugger's arm and chest.

Tugger's shriek was one of pure revulsion. At least he had the presence of mind to lower Mistoffelees to all fours before leaping away, reacting with a disgusted shudder to the mess on his fur.

"I'm s… I'm sorry," Mistoffelees ground out. But the damage was done. Through the haze of tears in his eyes, he saw Tugger stand there, frozen in shock, covered in vomit, looking utterly sad and broken. He almost felt sorry for Tugger. Almost, and then he stared down into the snow as he hacked up again, and when he shakily glanced up, Tugger was gone.

He needed to get up. He needed to get his stomach under control, and go through with a thoroughly unpleasant task. And then, he would need to speak with his kittens, if Tugger hadn't already. If he had… oh, Everlasting. Misto could deal with seeing that look of stunned betrayal in Tugger's eyes. He didn't think he could survive seeing it in his kittens' eyes.

"Ah yes, it's that time of year, what with the stomach bugs and all!" Skimble's sudden, unnecessarily loud voice made Mistoffelees jump. He realized he'd been shaking with shock and cold, the snow seeping into the fur of his limbs, as Skimble's warm paws rubbed against his back.

"Now come on, let's get you all sorted out," Skimble said with forced brightness, easily gathering Mistoffelees into his arms. "Put your arms around my neck—that's right."

Mistoffelees didn't resist. He'd planned to see Jenny anyway to ask about something to settle his stomach, and it was nice to be handled by someone who didn't loathe him at the moment. He kept his face tucked into the warm orange fur of Skimble's shoulder, hiding from prying eyes and ears until the warmth and sweet scent of a den surrounded him and he was gently deposited on a cushion.

Skimble nodded, pleased with his handiwork. "There we are! Now sit nice and cozy there, I'll make you some tea."

"No, thank you… I don't think I can keep anything down right now."

"Oh yes, lad. You need to drink something, at least, or you'll get yourself dehydrated. And that's not good for you, and the… well." He cut himself off, but Mistoffelees didn't miss the way his eyes had darted down to his still-flat abdomen.

Mistoffelees groaned, smothering his eyes with his palms. "You know, don't you?"

Skimble smiled weakly and poured water into a kettle. "Aye, well, Jenny told me the happenings. I haven't spread it around, though, I can promise you that."

The den fell to silence as Mistoffelees rested his head on his knees, wearily watching as Skimble mixed a few herbs into a cup as the water began to heat. A strong, spicy scent filled the air as the hot water was poured into the cup.

"There," Skimble said, blowing on the hot tea as he brought it over. "There's some ginger in there, that should set you right. Let it cool a bit first."

Mistoffelees nodded and took the cup between his cold, shaking fingers. "It doesn't matter if you keep the news to yourself. Everyone's going to know sooner or later."

"Hm. Your little row with Tugger out there didn't help. You know how gossip spreads in this place. But you don't have to tell everyone the whole story until you're ready."

"I think… I think Tugger hates me," Mistoffelees whispered, bringing the teacup up to his mouth and taking a quick sip. The taste of the ginger was strong, and helped settle his stomach. "And the kittens will probably feel the same when they find out I'm pregnant, and how it happened."

"Now now." Skimble joined him by the cushion, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Oh, you can scratch that post when you get to it. For now, worry about getting that belly trouble under control. You can stay here as long as you need."

Mistoffelees minutely shook his head, taking a gulp of the hot tea. He was thirstier than he'd realized. "I really can't. I have something I need to do, before anything else."

"What could possibly be more important than getting some rest?"

It was exactly what had gotten him into trouble in the first place, but… "Macavity," Mistoffelees whispered into his cup. "I have to go see Macavity… and tell him the 'happy' news."

********

This wasn't happening. Everlasting hell, this wasn't happening.

Tugger's mind was a whirlwind. He was exhausted from his stubborn refusal to find a place to sleep, struggling to process a rather unpleasant mix of guilt and anger, and now his anxiety levels were through the roof thanks to one of his greatest phobias splattered all over his fur.

He'd abandoned Mistoffelees in the snow. He admitted it, even though there was nothing he could do to be of use to the sick tom, not when he was seconds away from getting sick himself if he stayed any longer.

None of it made sense to him, and he didn't know how to create some sense out of it, and all he knew was that he needed to be away from Mistoffelees until he could wrap his mind around what was happening.

Retreating to their den, Tugger quickly found a cloth—no way in Heaviside was he going to tongue-bathe himself clean this time—and dabbed at the mess on his fur. Though he did his best to ignore what he was cleaning up, he couldn't help but gag.

He almost missed the rustle at the entrance of the den, followed by two distinct voices telling the other to shut it before Cyrano and Josephine burst into the room where Tugger had hidden himself.

"Dad! Dad, what happened?"

"Were you and dad yelling? Pounce said he could hear you from his den!"

"Oh no! Are you okay?"

What a sight he must have made: trembling like a leaf, and covered in vomit. And no, he wasn't okay, for more reasons than he could possible articulate at the moment, and so all he could do was quietly shake his head.

"Oh dad, give me that," Josephine said, taking the cloth and dutifully helping him clear the mess on his fur. "Are you sick? What's going on?"

Cyrano, for his part, was busy scanning the den, a little guarded as his gaze landed on Tugger again. "Where's dad?"

"He's not here," Tugger said weakly. "He's… he's the one who got sick."

"Augusta said something happened yesterday," Cyrano said. "Electra knows something but won't tell us."

"Misto is…" Tugger swallowed hard before continuing, partly due to his own renewing horror over the situation and partly due to the mess still on his fur. The instinct to protect his children from the truth was strong. But then again, so were they. "He's pregnant, all right, kittens? He's pregnant. That's the big mystery."

Josephine started and nearly dropped the cloth. "Oh. Wow. That's unexpected."

"I didn't think you and dad wanted more kittens," Cyrano said, though he was still carefully scrutinizing his father as he spoke. Something didn't seem quite right and he was clearly catching on. "Was it a happy accident, or… is there something you're not telling us?"

Tugger sighed and dropped his head into his clean hand. There was no doubt that Cyrano had inherited Mistoffelees' eyes; he had the same penetrating gaze, and he was not going to be satisfied unless he got an answer. "It's complicated, it's-"

"What's complicated?"

They all turned to see Cappella standing at the entrance to the den, wrinkling her nose. "Blergh, smells like sick in here."

Josephine rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, look at dad, genius. I'm helping him clean up."

"Everyone's saying you had a fight," Cappella said, ignoring her sister and sitting by Tugger. "Is everything all right?"

Tugger was still struggling to think of a way to answer when Cyrano answered for him. "For starters, dad is pregnant."

"What?" Tourmaline's voice now joined them from the entrance to the den. "When did that happen?"

"Wait, who's pregnant?" Aloysius said, marching inside close on Tourmaline's heels. He sat down near Josephine, giving her a pointed look.

"It's not me, you bloody moron, don't give me that look!" Josephine shrieked. "It's Dad!"

"Okay, what's going on?" Augusta huffed, stomping into the den. "Something happened yesterday, and I saw you all come in here, and now there's yelling, and if no one tells me what's going on, I'm going to start making up my own version!"

"Dad's pregnant," Aloysius bluntly said.

Augusta blinked. "Oh. Why the hell didn't Electra just say so? I'm insulted. Hey, I'm going to be a big sister!"

"We all are, you're not special," Josephine muttered. She finished clearing Tugger's fur and balled up the soiled cloth. "Mandra can finally stop complaining about being the baby… if she gets her tail in gear and comes back to us."

"She will," Aloysius said, cuffing Josephine on the shoulder. "She'll be back in time to hold her new baby siblings. Right, Dad?"

Tugger had remained wearily silent during the last few minutes of the whole commotion. Josephine's cleaning of his fur had helped him feel a little better, but it would take a whole lot more than a bath to bring peace to his mind.

He hadn't noticed his eldest son's silence until Cyrano spoke up. "There's something you're not telling us. Even with Mandra gone, you shouldn't… is there something wrong with the kittens?"

Tugger met his eyes. He couldn't lie to his son, couldn't find the energy to do so, but spilling the truth was even more draining. "It's difficult to explain… it-it's rather-"

"No!" Tourmaline shouted, bringing her fists down on the floor of the den. "No, enough with this. Everything is always too complicated to explain. Sod it, life is complicated. We're not kittens anymore. Something is happening to our family, and we deserve to know what's going on. So you are going to tell us, and we are going to handle this as a family. Am I clear?"

Even Josephine lapsed into silence at her sister's impassionate outburst. Six pairs of eyes were now on Tugger, who responded by dropping his head heavily into his paws. Everlasting, he ached all over. "Macavity."

He said nothing more, until Cappella prompted him with a soft, "Yes?"

"When we approached him in Elmsmere Way, to see why he took Mandra, he offered an…" It stung bitterly to use Mistoffelees' own words to describe the situation. "An agreement. If Misto gives him kittens, he gives us Mandra back."

"What… what do you mean, gives him kittens?" Aloysius stammered. "As in he needs to steal some from a den?"

"No, you dolt," Tourmaline said, her voice dropping to a horrified whisper. "Magical kittens. Oh Everlasting! That's why Dad is pregnant, isn't it?"

As realization struck, another commotion of voices rose. "They're not Dad's kittens?"

"That's sick!"

"That's brave!"

"Macavity's a wanker!"

"Everlasting, these dumb kits are still going to our siblings, aren't they?"

"How could Dad do this?"

"How couldn't he? What was he going to do, leave Mandra to die?"

"It's still revolting!"

"You're revolting!"

"Will you all be quiet for a moment, please!?"

Cyrano's order, to Tugger's mild surprise, did manage to quiet the kittens. At least until Augusta couldn't resist throwing in the final word. "You're not my real dad, Cyrano."

"Right, but where is Dad?" Cyrano asked, turning his attention from the horde of his siblings to his father.

Tugger withered now that the attention was on him again. He needed silence, some time to think. Anything to do with the future, with existence more than a few minutes ahead, was too grey to process. Tugger's voice was exhausted and bitter. "I'm not sure. Between the yelling and him hacking up on me, he didn't give me details about his plans for the day."

Cyrano gave him a wan look. "What's going to happen next?"

"We wait for him to have the kittens and for Mandra to come home."

"And what about after that?"

Cyrano's unspoken words were loud and clear: will we still have a family, after that?

Tugger couldn't bring himself to lie. "I don't know."

Chapter Text

Mistoffelees fell to his knees on the cold floor, coughing and gagging, praying for the ginger tea served by Skimble less than an hour ago to keep his stomach in check until he got this over with. Teleportation had never made the world spin so nauseatingly before. It seemed, now that he was pregnant, his magic was getting some funny ideas about how to behave.

Once he was certain he wasn't about to grace the floor with sickness, Mistoffelees took a tired breath and dropped to his haunches. This house, this abandoned shack in the middle of Elmsmere Way, the place where he'd given birth to his kittens… it was a tiny oasis in the land of blood and pain under Macavity's control.

He was a part of that world too, now. Despite his efforts to resist and fight. He remembered Macavity's eerie promise that he would always get what he wanted, and shuddered in revulsion, about to place a hand over his abdomen, and stopping himself at the last moment.

Mistoffelees slumped back on the floor. No one escaped Macavity's will. Not even him. He would have to live with this now, the knowledge of his weakness, the reminder of his life spent with the marks on his body from this agreement and the awareness that he'd helped unleash more pain and blood and coercion on the world. He refused to think of the growing kittens as anything else but that—nebulous beings born of coercion and calculation and meant for a destiny too grim for Mistoffelees to dwell on. He'd given in. He was complicit.

But damn it. At least his daughter would not die for his stubbornness.

Shaking the dust from his fur, Mistoffelees rose to his feet, leaving the ramshackle house with its warm memories of kittens and friends and family, and strode out into the cold streets of Elmsmere Way. He hated how familiar the road to Macavity's den now felt.

A tom was sprawled on the front steps of Macavity's house, idly chewing on a bone. He sprang to his feet and snarled when Mistoffelees approached; evidently, no one had been expecting guests tonight. Macavity hadn't exactly put his elite guard on duty.

"Stop growling at me," Mistoffelees huffed. "Make yourself useful and get Macavity. He'll know who I am. He'll want to see me."

The scraggly tom blinked, sucked on his teeth, and obeyed, slinking back into the house while keeping a wary eye on Mistoffelees.

Was this what power felt like? Mistoffelees felt untouchable now, carrying Macavity's offspring. Surely the Hidden Paw would destroy anyone who so much as dared to touch the cat who carried his kittens. It was a triumph, but a cheap one. He wasn't scared of the hench-cats anyway.

Soon the door creaked open again, and the real source of his anxiety and terror stood there, a surprised grin on his face.

"Well, well…" Macavity purred.

"My daughter," Mistoffelees snapped. "Bring me to her, now. I want to see her, and then you and I can talk."

Macavity looked shocked, then amused, acquiescing to Mistoffelees' demand with a polite bow of the head. "By all means. I've just sent her food down. You can have five minutes; we don't want to keep her from her dinner, do we?"

Mistoffelees kept his head high as he followed Macavity inside the house, various queens and toms meowing and chattering about him as he passed them. The inside of the house was also much too familiar in sight and sound. He hated it. Once Mandra was out of here, he would find some way to burn this whole damn place to the ground.

******

Mandra lay on her back on the narrow wooden slat of a broken bedframe, balancing a small toy block in her paw. She squeezed it, felt the satisfying rush of magic as it vanished, and reappeared with a small clatter five feet away. She made a fist, splayed her paw, and the wooden block appeared in her palm once more.

Hurrah, magic. Magic so weak that Macavity's wards didn't even take notice of it. Magic so weak compared to what her siblings could do, the world's more useless short-range teleportation. With nothing else to do in captivity, she kept practicing her little teleportation trick. Her record so far was sending the wooden block a whole shattering seven feet away.

All hail Mandragora, the mighty teleporter of small blocks a very short distance away.

The scrape of the bureau blocking the basement entrance made her ears twitch. Idly she tossed the block up and down as the stairs creaked under the weight of a new arrival.

"Hi Vincenzo," she said. She tossed the block, caught it, and rose to a sitting position.

The scruffy brown tom nodded sullenly, carrying a large bowl full of food. Mandra sniffed at the offering; chicken, strips of fish, a few mice, and a small container of cream. At least she couldn't say Macavity had been starving her.

Which was more than she could say for Vincenzo. His fur had looked worn and scraggly when she'd first seen him two weeks ago, but now he was noticeably patchy, his paws shaking as he set the bowl down.

"Hey," she said softly. His eyes were wide and lifeless as he looked up at the sound of her voice. "Vin, take something, yeah? I'm not exactly a big queen. I can never eat everything you bring me."

Vincenzo shook his head. A smattering of fur drifted from him. "Can't. Can't eat."

"I won't say anything to Macavity. Take some food."

Again he shook his head, and slumped in defeat. "I can't eat. Stomach's all twisted up in knots. 'M sorry, kit. This is a sorry place for anyone to be." He sighed and scratched his chest. "I sure miss the pub…"

Mandra bit her lip. "When my father gets me out of here, he can help-"

"Your daddy needs all the help he can get," Vincenzo sighed. He scratched himself some more and jumped at the sound of nearby voices at the top of the stairs. With barely a glance back, he hopped back to the staircase, leaving Mandra with, "Eat your dinner."

Her dinner was already forgotten. Mandra leapt to her paws, squeezing the block in her hand as though it would somehow help, and made a half-panicked, half-relieved sound when Macavity walked down the stairs, followed by her father.

"Dad…?" She wanted to leap across the basement junk and throw herself into his arms, but living with Macavity for two weeks had taught her to tread carefully. He hadn't put a paw on her, but she'd seen enough of how he treated his hench-cats.

"Five minutes," Macavity said, giving Mistoffelees a stern look before padding back up the stairs.

Her father seemed to be reading her mind. As soon as Macavity was out of sight, he closed the distance between them and crushed her in his arms. "Mandra! Kitten… Everlasting, I miss you, we all miss you so much…"

"I'm fine, Dad," she murmured. It was a struggle not to cry. She hugged back, hard, until she pulled away to look him in the eyes. Oh Bast, he looked so exhausted. "Are you okay? Is Dad okay? You look worn out… here, goodness knows he gives me too much food…"

Mandra pulled her father to sit on the ground with her, and picked a piece of chicken to hand to him. He made a face and put a paw over his mouth, hiccupping slightly. "No… thanks, Mandra, but I really can't…"

She tossed the chicken back in the bowl and pushed it away, worried about his reaction. He looked so sick. Was it stress? Because of her? "Are you okay? You don't look great, Dad. Don't worry about me, he treats me fine. See? Lots of food. I'm bored out of my fur, but I'm fine. Are you…?"

Mistoffelees sighed. His paw wandered to hers and she squeezed back, letting him take his time. Sitting there seemed to sap all his energy and it took a few minutes before he found the strength for a sad smile. "You won't be here much longer."

"Dad…?"

"Eight weeks or so. And then everything will be over, and you'll be home. I promise."

Mandra squeezed his paw even harder as she understood, loud and clear, what he meant. Her eyes darted down to his abdomen for a moment and she forced herself to meet his eyes again. No wonder he looked so tired and sick and defeated.

Gently, so as not to knock him flat on his back, she pulled him in for a hug. "You didn't have to do this for me."

"I'll have them before the next Jellicle Ball," he whispered against her neck. "You'll be home by then. Okay? Focus on that, kitten. It'll all be over soon."

They hugged until the creak of stairs made them pull apart. Macavity had them so well-trained, Mandra thought bitterly.

Mistoffelees rose to his feet and pressed a kiss to her head. "I love you, Mandra. Stay strong."

"I love you too, Dad…"

Alone again in the basement, Mandra watched as the bureau was pressed back over the entrance. With a huff, she kicked the bowl of food away with her paw as angry tears rolled down her cheeks.

*****

Mistoffelees was surprised to see the tall, lanky queen waiting by Macavity's side as he left the basement, smirking down at him. She looked too bony to be any sort of bodyguard, but she followed with a swagger to her step as Macavity cocked his head and led Mistoffelees back to his room.

It hadn't changed one bit. Mistoffelees shuddered at the sight of the familiar blankets but didn't resist when Macavity nudged him to sit. He and the tall queen loomed over him, almost like parents hovering over an unruly kitten. Mistoffelees wasn't sure if the thought made him want to laugh, cry, or vomit.

"Well?" Macavity wasted no time. Mistoffelees stared up, defiantly, wondering if there was any emotion behind those cold dark eyes. Was he even excited at the potential news? Or was this all just another check in his master plan?

At his side, the skinny queen sloppily chewed on a claw, looking bored. Mistoffelees paid her no attention, still staring at Macavity. "Congratulations," he said coldly. "You're going to be a father."

The queen snorted and punched Macavity in the arm. The Hidden Paw made no outward show of emotion, but Mistoffelees could swear there was a widening of his eyes.

"Sedna," Macavity said. The queen spat out the piece of claw she'd been chewing on and knelt by Mistoffelees, her joints cracking as she did so.

He recoiled for a moment and then forced himself to sit still, understanding now why Macavity had brought her in. She sniffed him, took his face in her paw, inspecting him and pursing her lips with a nod once she seemed satisfied.

"Oh yeah," Sedna drawled, patting his belly before he had a chance to stop her. "You got a ripe one here, Mac. He's pregnant for sure. Nice going!"

Mistoffelees wasn't sure what he expected next. He didn't think Macavity was the sort to jump and cheer at the news of the pregnancy, but he was a tad disappointed to see that Macavity's reaction was a somber nod. "You can return to your yard. But you know our agreement; you return to me once a week, and if anything happens to my kittens, you will come back to me so I can put more inside you."

He'd expected that, but Mistoffelees still felt the nausea closing up his throat. "Agreed," he muttered, getting to his feet and preparing to bypass Macavity without a word.

The Hidden Paw grabbed his arm. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear that Mistoffelees wasn't to resist. He said nothing, looking Mistoffelees up and down, and pressing a paw to the flat belly.

Mistoffelees kept still, kept his breathing steady as the paw felt like fire against his fur. He chanced a look at Macavity's face, surprised to see the faintest hint of a smile, which vanishing as Macavity removed his paw and let Mistoffelees go on his way without another word.

He should have been relieved. The ordeal had been easier than he'd expected, Sedna and Macavity's groping aside. He'd managed to keep thoughts of Tugger at bay, but now, thoughts of his mate (former mate, he reminded himself) flooded his mind.

Tugger had been so happy, for those few seconds, thinking the kittens were his. How would things have gone if they'd conceived kittens again, the two of them? They would have celebrated, embraced, cried, made plans for the future, figured out ways to tell everyone. This was meant to be a special occasion, not a cold reveal in a house full of hench-cats. Not an announcement to a cat who'd raped him and had no thought for him beyond a magical vessel for his heirs.

Eight weeks to go. And then, everything would be over.

Mistoffelees walked, down the road of Elmsmere Way away from Macavity's home, back towards the junkyard, back to the home now filled with as much pain and sorrow as the one behind him.

Chapter Text

There was no avoiding it; even with a tribe of their size, winter boredom and a general penchant for gossip meant that no secret stayed secret for long.

Not only did everyone know Mistoffelees was pregnant again, but they knew the father was Macavity and not Tugger. What they didn't know, however, was how Tugger was dealing with the entire situation.

He'd stopped talking to anyone aside for his kittens, taking up refuge in his son Cyrano's den, giving his former den a wide berth. The only thing everyone knew for sure: he hadn't spoken to Mistoffelees in a full week, and clearly wasn't planning on speaking to him anytime soon.

"Oh, I'm sure he will!" Jelly said. With Skimble watching the elderly Gus for a few hours, she was free to enjoy some time in the fresh air, gossiping freely with a group of assembled queens. "He can't ignore dear Misto forever, can he?"

Bombalurina sighed and picked at her claws. "What else is he going to do? Just forgive him?"

"Once the kittens are born, they'll have to talk to each other, won't they?" Etcetera was curled into a little ball as she spoke, uncharacteristically subdued.

"That's still seven more weeks of pretending his mate doesn't exist." Jelly shifted where she sat, brushing snow off her fur. She turned to Electra, who sat nearby, ostensibly participating in the conversation, but not a word had come from her yet. "Electra, dear? What does your mate think of all this? These are her parents, after all."

Electra sat unmoving, all eyes on her. "… I don't think it's for me to say. Augusta's been keeping to herself. I just know they're having a difficult time."

"Of course they are," Bombalurina sniffed. "I don't think I would ever forgive Pounce if he cheated on me like that."

"Bomba!"

"Of course, you might be more puzzled than angry if Pounce came home pregnant by-"

"Sshh!"

The four queens immediately went quiet, conspicuously so as Mistoffelees stumbled down the path to Jenny's den. He made no move to look in their direction or to even acknowledge awareness of their presence, moving slowly and shakily with his arms wrapped around his chest. With a weak knock on Jenny's door, he was allowed in and disappeared from the sight of the gossipy quartet.

"He looks so sick," Etcetera sighed, once the tux was out of earshot. "Did you see that? His fur looks so dull now. Like he's about to just keel over and-"

"Etcie!" Electra gaped, slamming her paws on the snow in a dull thud. "Don't talk like that! He's not dying; he's just having a rough go. Okay?"

"Can't remember the last time I saw him out and about," Bombalurina said. Seeing Mistoffelees' sad state made her soften her tone. "Or Tugger, for that matter."

Jelly said, "I saw Tugger hunting this morning, though I don't know if the poor dear looked like he had the energy to catch anything."

"I just feel sorry for the kittens," Electra murmured. "They're even born yet. They didn't ask for any of this. Anyway… I'm going to see if Augusta needs me."

Solemn nods all around as Electra rose, following by Jelly hoisting herself to her feet and brushing more snow off her fur. "I should go see if my Gus needs anything. Electra, dear… do give our best to Augusta and the others and… if they need anything, call on us."

Electra nodded. Bit by bit the group broke apart, finding other things to do. Even the allure of gossip couldn't alleviate the grim situation.

****

"I'll be with you in a moment, poppet." Jenny directed Mistoffelees to come inside her den, petting his shoulders kindly. In the back, quick, harsh coughs kept drowning out a soft speaking voice. "I just need to finish one thing…"

"Is that Munk?" Mistoffelees asked. His own voice sounded brittle to his ears. He still couldn't believe he'd found the strength to shuffle over to Jenny's den; the more the days went on, the more time he spent hunched over a bucket. Food was a distant memory and he could feel his body paying dearly for the lack of nourishment.

Jenny nodded and pointed to a pillow. "Still not quite over all that smoke from the fire. I'm trying something to help him breathe. I'll bring you some tea when I come back, sit down for now. I can see your legs shaking, dear heart."

Mistoffelees nodded to her retreating back, dropping himself down on the pillow as delicately as he could. Any harder, and his stomach would violently protest, just like it violently protested food, water, and air. These kittens were like poison inside him.

The distant coughing stopped. The gentle approach of paws made Mistoffelees' ears prick up. It was not Jenny, but Demeter who approached him with a small smile.

She dragged a thin pillow over and sat down next to him. "Good to see you today, Misto. How are you feeling? Do you want some water?"

Mistoffelees shook his head, rolling his tongue out of his mouth to answer. "Not unless you want to be wearing it in a few moments. I'm hoping Jenny has something that can help. Tea, or… something to make me sleep for seven weeks so I can wake up and everything will be over."

Slipping her arm around the tux, Demeter drew him close and purred softly for comfort. In the back of the den, the coughs rose and fell.

"Munk," Demeter sighed. "Ever since the fire… I can hear the breath rattling in his chest and he coughs all night long. Jenny's made some kind of mix with herbs and she makes him breathe the steam. I hope it helps."

Mistoffelees nuzzled into her shoulder, trying to escape both the guilt and the nausea gnawing at his stomach. "I'm sorry. The fire was all my fault."

"Misto, you stopped the fire! We wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for you."

"I dragged all this nonsense to the junkyard. All this horrible fortune."

Demeter gently tugged on his ear to chastise him. "Macavity started it. He ripped my family apart before you even knew how to walk. You're blameless."

"Tugger doesn't think so." And Tugger wasn't wrong, as far as Mistoffelees was concerned. It would be easy to feel angry at his ex-mate's silent treatment, if only the tux wasn't sick with guilt. Or with morning sickness. It was difficult to tell the two apart now.

"Tugger can go hump a pollicle," Demeter grumbled. "Where has he been, anyway?"

"It's been a week and he hasn't even looked at me. He's been sleeping over at Cyrano's den, I think. I-I don't even know for sure."

"What about your kits? I saw Cyrano the other day. He wasn't in the mood to talk."

Mistoffelees shrugged weakly. "Josephine won't look at me. I can't blame her. After Mandra, she took the brunt of everything. She had to watch while Jezebel…" He remembered the blood in his daughter's fur when she'd come running, after the fire, and gulped his nausea down. "Cyrano checks on me regularly. Cappella and Tourmaline seem to understand. Aloysius and Augusta… I don't know. They're mad, they're confused… they're scared because of what's happening between Tugger and I."

"You love them. They know that. They'll get over this."

And what about Tugger? Mistoffelees meant to voice the question, but swallowed thickly instead. Thoughts of his former mate was not helping the stressful roiling in his stomach. "C-can you hand me that bucket over there…?"

Demeter quickly did as asked, putting the nearby bucket in Mistoffelees' lap and stroking his head as he hunched over the vessel, spitting once into it as he waited for the inevitable.

"Next time you have to see that bastard Macavity, see if Jenny can give you something to slip in his tea."

Despite his nausea and the grey spots dancing in his vision, Mistoffelees grinned. "Poison? Something that will make him bleed out of his arse?"

"Couldn't happen to a nicer cat. He deserves to die in a pool of his own shit."

Instead of bothering his stomach, the thought filled Mistoffelees with evil glee. If that was what it took to make him smile these days, so be it. "Remember when I hacked up all over Bixbite? I should have aimed for Macavity instead."

Demeter laughed. The laughter soon died and she shook her head with a sigh. "He's still alive. Bixbite I mean. I'm going to kill him some day. I don't care how, but I'm going to do it. Mark my words."

"He's all yours. I'll kill Macavity."

"Deal."

The delightful revenge fantasies were quickly interrupted. Mistoffelees gagged once and then vomited into the bucket. It was a quick affair, owing to the fact that he had practically nothing in his system, but the pain in his stomach was even more exquisite.

"Everlasting," Mistoffelees muttered miserably, spitting into the bucket. "If this doesn't stop, I won't even have the energy to crawl around the den anymore."

"Then don't," Demeter soothed, rubbing his back. "Why don't you come stay in our den for a while? Until you start feeling better. At least you'll have company."

He would have protested, if only to be polite, but he needed the help and he needed the company even more right now. "Are you sure Munk won't mind?"

A quiet cough heralded Munkustrap's arrival into the room. "Whatever it is, probably not."

"Oh, you poor dear," Jenny sighed, spotting the bucket and Mistoffelees' pallid face. "Let me go make you some tea… some catnip with ginger should do the trick."

While Jenny shuffled off to boil water, Mistoffelees groaned softly and looked up from his bucket into Munkustrap's smiling face. Everlasting, he missed having people smile at him. Anger, disgust, and pity were in vogue these days. Smiles, not so much.

"We've inherited a den mate, Munk. At least until he feels better."

Mistoffelees swallowed thickly. He wished Jenny would hurry with the tea. "I promise I'll move out before the kittens are born..."

"It's no trouble, Misto," Munkustrap said, sitting on the floor next to Mistoffelees and his mate. His breathing sounded less laboured; whatever Jenny had done, it had worked. "Stay as long as you want. We're still family, no matter what. We love you."

He hadn't expected the simple words of tenderness to break him, but Mistoffelees felt his face crumple. He threw himself into Munkustrap's chest, sobbing, wishing Tugger was here instead. Dimly he heard Demeter's voice whispering, "It's all right, Misto. It's going to be all right…"

"Oh, dear me," Jenny started at the sight as she strode into the room, holding a steaming cup. "I don't have a tea for that..."

Chapter Text

Mistoffelees groaned. The sound came out in a weak, garbled huff, smothered against the tux's fur as he shakily rested his arms on the rim of a basin and let his head drop on them. Through the cracks in Munkustrap and Demeter's den, he could see pale, late-afternoon sunlight. No wonder he was so exhausted.

He'd barely managed a fitful few hours of sleep here and there since moving into this den, awakened every few hours by relentless nausea, making him hack up until there was nothing left for him to do but miserably hunch over the basin and dry-heave until his body was too exhausted to keep it up. The days and nights blended into a solid mass, filled with sickness and guilt. It felt like a week had passed. Maybe more, maybe less.

For the first day or so, he'd appreciated Demeter's offer to let him stay here until he felt better. It saved him from dealing with Tugger and from trying to save face in front of his kittens. Now his gratitude had morphed into guilt, which gnawed at his gut almost as much as the sickness did.

Mistoffelees stifled a sour hiccup against his arm. Damn it all. Macavity's kittens were poisoning him. They were killing him, slowly, for no other reason than they were Macavity's kittens. His first litter had made him feel ill, and that was normal because that happened to all pregnant Jellicles. His second litter, well, they hadn't made it far enough to upset his stomach.

This unrelenting sickness was different. He couldn't eat anything, couldn't sleep, he could barely keep down water and tea. The lack of sustenance made him dizzy and weak, and there was really nothing as embarrassing as needing to ask for help just to stand up and move around. His fur felt dull and greasy, a testament to the complete lack of energy he had for even basic grooming.

If he could just survive this, then everything would be fine. Everything would go back to normal. Everything would…

"Misto?"

Mistoffelees looked up, and really wished he hadn't as spot danced in his vision. Everlasting Cat, his head felt like a stone. "Dem… did I w… wake you up?"

Demeter kindly shook her head and sank down on a pillow next to him. Every spare cushion and blanket had been brought out to help make him more comfortable. Mistoffelees was fairly certain he'd gotten sick on some of them. He'd have to remember to properly apologize to both Demeter and Munkustrap once this was all done.

"I was having trouble sleeping anyway. How are you feeling?"

His automatic answer of 'I'm fine' ended up garbled into a whimper as his head swam. He leaned into the basin, spitting into the existing mess and waiting for the inevitable.

"It's okay, Misto…" Demeter placed a hand against his forehead. A violent spasm shook him from head to tail as he vomited into the basin. Her hand was cool and comforting and the idea of such comfort in such a horrible situation made tears pool in Mistoffelees' eyes. Lucky for him, he could dismiss the tears as springing forth from the violent results of his morning sickness.

"It's bad today, isn't it?"

"… bad every day," Mistoffelees said. He coughed and spat and debated moving away from Demeter's paw. He probably would if he'd had any energy left.

"Do you want to try some water?"

He shrugged glumly. There was a chance and a half he was going to hack up the water too, but if a few drops managed to stay in his belly to help hydrate him (and these damn kittens) then he would have to try.

"There's the tea Jellylorum sent earlier, too," Demeter said. She'd poured a cup of water and brought it over, also holding a white porcelain cup in her other paw. "It's gone cold, but it might help anyway."

Mistoffelees didn't fight her help. Trying to hold the cup of tea would have resulted in splashing its contents all over the blankets. No sense ruining more bedding than he'd likely already ruined.

With tiny kitten-sips, he got some of the liquid down his throat. It did taste good, sweet and a bit spicy. The fact that the tea was cold seemed to help and as it stayed down, he took a longer sip, regretting it almost immediately as his throat tightened. Demeter got the message. She drew the cup away, putting the basin back in place, though it remained unused as Mistoffelees struggled for breath to control the roiling in his belly.

If this kept up, giving birth was going to involve him lying in a heap and waiting for the kittens to find their own way out of his body. Could Jenny just cut them out? He'd welcome pain over nausea at the moment. If it wasn't for the thought of Mandra, sitting alone in the cold basement of Macavity's den, he would go for it, too.

Wait.

Macavity.

His brain had felt so gunked up from his sickness but the sudden spike of anxiety lent clarity to his thoughts now.

"Bloody h-hell," he gasped. Demeter misunderstood the situation and held the basin closer to his mouth. "… how long have I been here?"

It took Demeter a few seconds to parse his question. "Nine days. Don't you remember…?"

"Macavity. Have to go see him. Promised." Mistoffelees didn't expect the Hidden Paw to shrug and end Mandra just because he was a few days late for their weekly rendezvous, but he wouldn't put it past Macavity to use this as an excuse to alter the parameters of their deal.

"Misto, you're about to keel over. How do you expect to stride into his den?"

"… have to find a way." Mistoffelees weakly shrugged. Walking was out of the question. His magic would just have to find a way.

Demeter huffed quietly. "I hope that bastard feels remorse when he sees what shape he put you in."

"Ha, no chance. Maybe I'll… get lucky and hack up on him." The tux draped his arms around the rim of the basin again, smothering his face in the dull fur. He was sure he was too dehydrated to cry, and yet somehow he found a way.

***

If Mistoffelees had lost track of time, Tugger was keenly, acutely aware of the passage of time. Down to the minute, really. If he concentrated he could even replay the last few weeks, every significant event down to the very second it had happened.

He remembered the last moment of peace before all this had started. He remembered the fire, the blood on Josephine's fur, every stinking moment standing in front of Macavity. The last few moments of love he'd shared with Mistoffelees before everything went even further into hell, and looking back that alone should have been a clue.

Jenny's den. The kittens. The cold squeeze in Tugger's chest when he realized, despite everything, that they'd reached the point of no return.

Mistoffelees would be halfway through his fourth week of pregnancy now. Probably with a belly to show for it. The first time they'd made kittens, he was done hacking up by now, but since he hadn't appeared out of Demeter and Munkustrap's den for an entire week and some, Tugger figured it wasn't the case this time.

He knew, because he'd been sitting, on and off for nine days, perched on a clump of wood within sight of the den. The weather outside was becoming milder by the day so he'd traded his sullen exile in his son Cyrano's den for his sullen vigil for any sign of his mate.

Not that Mistoffelees' wellbeing was his concern any more. But still. It wouldn't kill someone to give him news of how his former mate was doing, would it?

The hours melded into each other until the front door of the den pushed open and Munkustrap strode out. Tugger must have looked far more miserable than usual, because Munkustrap actually walked towards him instead of making a grand point to avoid him.

"Tugger, go home. This is getting creepy."

"… How is he?"

Munkustrap seemed to debate how to answer, staring down at his brother with his mouth in a hard line. His answer, when it came, was snappish. "How do you think? He's sick, he's miserable, and his mate hasn't spoken to him in weeks."

"Former mate," Tugger corrected listlessly.

"Tugger, don't. I won't pretend to know what you two are going through, but if you let this rip you two apart, then Macavity wins."

Tugger bristled, scrambling to his feet and spoiling for a fight, but Munkustrap didn't give him the satisfaction, leaving him to feebly hiss at the tabby's retreating back.

This wasn't about Macavity, damn it. This was about Mistoffelees, and their family, and choices made and…

Mistoffelees.

Tugger felt his energy drain, crashing back on his piece of wood, trying and failing not to think of his former mate miserably sprawled inside the den he hadn't stopped guarding.

He'd gotten very good at keeping track of time. Three hours passed before Tugger hurled himself to his feet once more, marching for the den before his brain could catch up with his heart and remind him why this was a terrible idea.

The den was musty and quiet, much more so than the last time he'd visited. Tugger moved slowly, scared of what he would find, half-expecting Demeter to appear with paws on her hips, hissing at him to get out. Or for Munk to pop back in and drag Tugger out by the ear.

He found neither. His ears pricked up at the sound of weak, frustrated sighs and rustling fabric. He followed the noises to a cubby-space on the far side of the den, and the cold creeping feeling in his chest turned to anxious heat.

Mistoffelees didn't notice him right away. He looked tiny, gaunt, fur dull and limbs shaky as he struggled to all fours on the nest of blankets. Skin and bones everywhere, aside from the conspicuous swell of his belly.

When he did notice Tugger standing there, his ears flattened. Tugger waited for a verbal lashing, tears, hoarse cries of "get the hell out of my sight". He wasn't expecting Mistoffelees to huff in resignation and reach for his former mate with a trembling paw. "Help me up."

Tugger didn't hesitate. At least the request didn't force him to talk first. He did as told, taking Mistoffelees' thin arm and hauling him to unsteady feet. Now what?

Again he was spared having to verbalize anything. Mistoffelees pointed to the front door of the den. "Outside. My bladder's about to burst."

"Oh," Tugger eloquently said. So much for a brief moment of elation that Mistoffelees hadn't raised his paw to scratch him and was, on some tiny level, happy to see Tugger again.

They managed two staggering steps before Tugger gave up and scooped the tux into his arms, carrying him outside with disturbing ease. Mistoffelees should have been a pleasant little weight in his arms, especially this far into a pregnancy.

They said nothing as Tugger carried him to a clear spot, setting him down, and didn't even merit a swat with Mistoffelees' claws when it was clear he wasn't going to leave the small tom alone while he relieved himself. Letting his former mate collapse in the snow was not something he planned to do.

When he was finished, Tugger picked him up again. "Back to the den?"

"… Not yet. I haven't breathed outside air in days."

Tugger nodded, found a spot mostly clear of snow, and placed Mistoffelees down. Again he didn't leave, and again he didn't get a hiss or a swat when he sat down next to the tux.

He only hoped no one would wander by and see them sitting side-by-side, talking (well, if not talking, then quietly tolerating each other) and spark a hundred new rumours by dinnertime. Tugger himself wasn't sure what was happening here, other than this being the first time in two weeks he'd been close to his former mate. The anger was still there, but its energy had drained. That was Tugger's main emotion these days: completely and utterly drained. He could only imagine how Mistoffelees felt.

If only for something to do, Tugger cleared his throat. "It's been a long time. The snow's starting to melt."

Mistoffelees rolled his shoulders with a dull pop and a moan. "How are the kits?"

"Managing." It wasn't a lie, but Tugger didn't need to get into the details of how Cyrano was making himself sick with worry, Josephine was being even more tempestuous than usual, Cappella spent more time crying than not.

Tugger had to stop himself from lobbing the same question back about the other kits, Macavity's kits. He glared at the swell of Mistoffelees' belly and couldn't stop himself from spitting. "You're showing."

A bitter laugh spilled from Mistoffelees' throat and he pointedly avoided looking at or touching his belly, staring ahead at nothing in particular. At least their feelings on these damned kits were still the same. "They're crushing my insides. I can't eat anything. And if I'm not busy hacking up, my legs are cramping up. Jenny says it's because I haven't been eating much, but I don't know what my stomach has to do with my legs."

Tugger had a sudden memory of those elegant white-furred legs in his lap, while his paws glided up and down the sore muscles. Gentle flirting, before the Jellicle Ball all those years ago. How far they'd come. Mistoffelees would probably claw his eyes out if he tried to touch his legs now. Or maybe not, but Tugger wasn't sure if he was willing to break his own heart by forcing himself to recreate a pleasant memory.

"I'm sorry."

Tugger almost jumped. The voice caught him by surprise, the words even more so. "… sorry for what, exactly?"

Mistoffelees shrugged and laboriously stretched his legs further onto the snow-covered ground. "For hacking up on you. I understand it must have been traumatic."

Sorry for lying and letting our sworn enemy impregnate me. Tugger curled his paws into fists, letting the painful pricks of his claws steady him. He wasn't expecting an apology for anything else because it would mean Mistoffelees regretted getting himself into this condition, and he couldn't regret something that was, admittedly, the only solution to getting their daughter back.

And that made it all so worse: that somewhere in the deep pit of his anger, there was also the tremendous guilt of knowing there was nothing else he could do, nothing he could have done to save his daughter and mate (former mate, he bitterly thought to himself). He had to stop giving these thoughts free reign. Because the more he thought of Macavity's 'deal', the harder it was to stop imagining Mistoffelees being held down and following through.

"I'm sorry too," Tugger muttered.

"Sorry for what?"

"… For dropping you on the ground after you hacked up on me."

He spotted Mistoffelees shaking out of the corner of his eye and realized the tux was laughing weakly. Tugger grinned, looking back out ahead. Well. It was a start.

Minutes passed and the wind grew cold again. Mistoffelees shifted where he sat, drawing his legs up. "Tugger? Can you…"

He looked to be hesitating on the cusp of a question. Tugger could see the very moment the tux decided against whatever he was going to ask. "Can you take me back to the den? I'm tired…"

The moment, whatever it was, was over now. So be it, Tugger thought glumly. He rose to his feet, brushing snow from his fur, and scooped up Mistoffelees again. Not a word was shared as he trekked back to the den, placing the tux back on the nest of blankets, warily eyeing the nearby basin. "I'll tell the kits you're managing."

Mistoffelees nodded, drawing a pillow close to prop under his head. "Thank you."

That was it, then. Tugger turned, leaving the den, leaving Mistoffelees to his sickness, and did what he'd been doing for the last week: found his stack of wood, sat down on it, and wearily kept track of the days to come.

***

Bloody Everlasting Hell.

He'd come close… so close. To asking Tugger to help him, to hold him up and walk him to Macavity's damned den, to stay by his side and protect him and keep him company.

He'd lost the right to ask anything of his former mate. He'd lost the privilege of asking for anything resembling love and support. Asking for help to take a piss was bad enough. He was alone, and he would do this alone.

The brief fresh air had helped, but only just. Mistoffelees sat up, stretching his stiff spine, dropping his throbbing head in his paws as the motion proved to be too optimistic for his body to handle right now. And yet he was about to ask it something even more taxing.

It took several minutes of concentration, half of which were dedicated to not throwing up in his own lap. With enough gathered magic, Mistoffelees held his breath, screwed his eyes shut, and teleported out of the den to Elmsmere Way.

Chapter Text

Mistoffelees' rear hit the ground first. Then his hip, and finally his shoulder, bringing up a cold puff of snow as he huffed from the effort of teleporting.

As quickly as he possibly could with an aching body and a cumbersome belly, he heaved himself up onto all fours and prompted retched, splattering thin liquid on the disturbed snow.

Great. So much for Jellylorum's tea, the last substance that seemed willing to stay in his stomach.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his paw, Mistoffelees crawled a few paces until he felt brave enough to attempt to rise to his feet. The process was taxing, but finally he stood up, rolling his spine and stretching his tail with a miserable groan. He was skin and bones and yet he'd never felt more stretched and bloated. Damned kittens. Once they were out, he could stop thinking of them and how they were destroying his body.

The sight of Macavity's den didn't fill him with dread or anxiety. Only a sort of numbness, like ticking off a chore from a to-do list. And why should he feel dread? He was pregnant with Macavity's kittens. He was untouchable. Invincible.

The thought had made him feel powerful before. Now, as he stared impassively at the hench-cat guarding the front door, he felt tired. So tired.

The guard was a buff, slow-looking queen who hissed dumbly as he approached. She looked like she could finish him in one bite. Mistoffelees didn't care. "Tell Macavity I'm here."

She looked confused for a moment, scratching her ear and frowning at his swollen belly, before deciding to obey instead of figuring out exactly what was happening here. Mistoffelees expected her to disappear inside the house to fetch Macavity, but she merely pushed open the door and yelled, "Oi! Bix!"

For the first time since teleporting, Mistoffelees felt something other than numbness as Bixbite swung the door open. He hadn't changed much since the last time Mistoffelees had seen him, if one chose to overlook the massive scars on his face and his one destroyed eye. The tux felt an inkling of pride on Demeter's behalf.

Bixbite rolled his good eye. "Tch. Are you ever not pregnant, you little whore?"

Mistoffelees' current state of misery was too thick for the jab to penetrate. He shrugged airily. "You'll be excited to know I feel extremely sick to my stomach right now. Want to check if my aim's improved since last time?"

The look of fear in Bixbite's good eye gave Mistoffelees a warm fuzzy feeling. He backed away, jerked his head to get the tux to follow him, and retreated into the house without another word.

Mistoffelees had kept himself together until now, but the effort to teleport, walk to the den, and now the stench of its inside, threatened to overwhelm him. Bixbite walked him over to a small room at the side of the house. Macavity stood next to a table covered in food, with Sedna half-draped over a pillow, prying open an oyster with her claws.

Great, he'd stumbled in at dinnertime. Mistoffelees groaned when the smell made his stomach clench. Food was not his favourite thing these days.

"You're late." Macavity might as well have been speaking of the weather. He plucked what looked like a piece of meat pie from the table and ate it. Not a single piece of crust dared to crumble in his fur.

Mistoffelees replied with an absent shrug, glancing behind him. Bixbite had left them alone. Too bad, the smell of the meat made him dizzy now and while he didn't mind casually hacking up on Macavity's floor, having the hench-cat around for a target would have been fun. "I'm still here. So are your kittens. May I see my daughter now, please?"

Sedna broke open her oyster with a victory cackle. "Lookit you, with that big gut. How many kittens did Mac put in you?"

"I don't know yet."

Macavity gave him a curious look and closed the distance between the two. The tux fought not to shrink back. Macavity hadn't said anything about his lateness, but that didn't mean he wasn't angry.

He raised a paw, but didn't scratch. The huge palm came down on his belly, incongruously gentle, probing and rubbing at the stretched fur as though he could determine how many kittens were in there. Bastard.

"Have they moved?" Macavity asked. Damn it, dealing with this was easier when Macavity was growling and issuing threats, not quietly excited about kittens kicking.

"Not yet." Mistoffelees swayed in place. He debated faking a fit of fainting to get away from Macavity's touch. Turns out he didn't need to fake. Between the smells and the exhaustion, he had nothing left to hold him up and crumpled to his knees.

Macavity caught him and followed, lowering him to sit on the floor. "None of that, now…"

"Kittens need food, Mac. Give him something to eat." Did Sedna sound genuinely concerned? Damn her.

It was almost comical how Macavity deferred to her in this instance. Mistoffelees spared a brief curious thought for this old and lanky queen and her role in all this. Was she there to help prepare Macavity for the caring of his soon-to-be-born kittens? Was she going to tend to them? Feed them, raise them, rock them to sleep when they cried?

A mental image of helpless kittens in the arms of evil was quickly interrupted as Macavity rose to his feet. "Have something to eat, then. You can have anything you want. Isn't fish one of your favourites?"

The thought of fish made Mistoffelees gag. "I'm not hungry. Neither are your kittens."

"I won't take kindly to your stubbornness if it hurts my kittens."

"Fine, but I'll hack it all up on your feet, if that's what you want. That's all I've been doing since you put these kits in me."

Macavity seemed unfazed by the threat, more curious than angry. "The kittens are bothering your stomach?"

He cast a look towards Sedna, who shrugged airily while she slurped another oyster down. "Couldn't tell you why, but the little buggers will do that. Same thing happened with my brood."

Macavity nodded thoughtfully, abandoning the table of food and slowly circling the spot where Mistoffelees sat awkwardly sprawled. The tux struggled not to hiss, struggled to keep his fur from bristling. Intellectually he knew Macavity had no intention of harming him, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy being so threateningly circled. What humiliation did the Hidden Paw have planned for him now?

Thick, warm paws landed on his shoulders. Mistoffelees stiffened so suddenly he thought his spine would snap, huffing shallow breaths as Macavity's paws slid from shoulders to back and stayed there. "What-?"

Warmth spread from his back to his chest. Mistoffelees had the bizarre, split-second thought that Macavity was holding him down so Sedna could pour soup over him, but the heat was internal, almost soothing as it lapped at his innards. There was the strangest sensation, as though Mistoffelees needed to belch, and to his shock, the ever-present nausea lifted from him.

He could breathe. He could relax. He hadn't realized how all-consuming the sickness had been until it disappeared. His stomach ached from being empty for so long, but he didn't feel nauseated at all anymore.

"What… what did you do?" To his shock, his stomach began to growl; he'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel hungry. No, scratch that; he was positively starving.

He couldn't even muster any embarrassment as Macavity heard the growl and leapt to his feet. A mocking smirk would have been easier to bear, but Macavity looked genuinely pleased with himself. Mistoffelees dared to test his balance and while he was still weak and shaky from hunger and dehydration, he didn't feel ready to pass out face-first in his own sick. A refreshing change.

Macavity handed him a cup of water, which the tux downed with glee. Everlasting Cat, plain water had never tasted so good. He wanted more, more of anything, longingly staring at Macavity as he pored over the table and turned his attention back to Mistoffelees with a large piece of torn meat in his hand.

It smelled incredible, even more so as Macavity raised his paw, meaning to hand-feed him. It was a difficult battle to wage, dignity versus his suddenly-ravenous appetite. In the end, his need for food won out and he opened his mouth, letting Macavity gently place the piece of meat inside.

If the smell of food was heavenly, the taste was positively transcendent. He almost felt guilty for not feeling resentful as Macavity as he picked off more of the meat, from a carcass that dimly registered as bird-like to Mistoffelees' eyes. He didn't care. He would have eaten stewed rat off a pollicle's back if it meant he could keep it down. This was bliss.

"I'm hardly surprised you would get a taste for this," Macavity said with a sly grin. "Roast quail from the Clocktower pub, my personal favourite. My kittens take after their sire."

He should have bitten Macavity right then and there. In his haste to shovel down nourishment, he'd forgotten that the cat in front of him right now, the one who was tenderly feeding him after taking away his pain, was the one who'd caused all this misery in the first place.

"You healed me," Mistoffelees said, biting off a piece from the bone offered to him. He ate with a bit more caution now.

"Works wonders on my hernia, too." Sedna snorted. It was impossible to tell if she was being serious or not.

Mistoffelees ignored her. "You can heal, and you choose to do this? If I had that sort of power, I wouldn't waste it kidnapping helpless kittens and torturing others."

Macavity didn't seem perturbed by the talk of kidnapping and torture. "And you would waste time performing happy deeds until the future slips away from you. I'm not wasting my powers. I'm preserving them."

"What's the point of any power if you don't use it to help?"

"Survival." Macavity gave him a look, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Maybe it was. And maybe Mistoffelees was too soft and simple to understand it, but somehow the greater good didn't matter much to him right now. He was about to give birth to kittens and turn them over to this megalomaniac, willingly. He wasn't one to talk about helping people.

Mistoffelees quickly swallowed his mouthful and took another bite of the quail for good measure, leaving the bone bare. He had a feeling he was going to devour anything he could get his paws on once he got back to the junkyard so if he could deplete Macavity's stores instead, all the better.

"May I see my daughter now?"

"Why don't I make this extra special for you?" Macavity gave a pointed look to someone beyond the doorway to the small dining room. A scruffy brown tom scrambled in, grabbing a platter and loading it with food. "Vincenzo here was just about to bring our guest her lunch. Why don't you enjoy a family picnic?"

Mistoffelees scoffed, but couldn't resist a small feeling of elation when he noticed Vincenzo loaded some of the quail on the tray.

Teleporting home was a much simpler ordeal. The action didn't leave him pitching face-first into the melting snow or hacking his guts out. He'd managed to eat more of the quail and two entire fish while sitting in the basement with Mandra before stopping himself. It wouldn't do to have his stomach explode because he couldn't stop stuffing himself.

At least Mandra found it funny. If it wasn't for the circumstances, Mistoffelees could have believed they were indeed having a family picnic.

If they weren't locked in a basement with henchcats prowling a few feet away. If they weren't just the two of them, with the rest of their family splintered apart because of the reason behind the swell in Mistoffelees' gut.

Mandra was fine. He took comfort in that. Boredom had led her to work on her magic with more focus than she'd dedicated to it in months. Small miracles.

Only four more weeks, and she would be home.

Whatever home would look like by then.

Back in the yard and brushing snow out of his fur, Mistoffelees pondered his options. Now that he wasn't going to smother Munkustrap and Demeter's den with vomit and he could actually stand on his own feet without blacking out, there was no need for him to stay there and be nursed.

He could go back to his own den. The question was, was Tugger still part of the deal?

He could try Cyrano's den first. Maybe visit Tourmaline. See if Aloysius and Cappella had moved back into their den, though without Mandra there, he doubted they would.

He could and should have done many things, but Mistoffelees didn't try to talk himself out of it when he went straight for his own den, his old den, his old home.

He felt the heat of activity before he crossed the door, worried about what he'd find inside, swallowing thickly as Tugger and Josephine looked up from their conversation mid-word. Always the terrible actor, Tugger took entirely more seconds than necessary to plaster a hard and neutral look over his features.

Josephine had no qualms. She turned up her nose at Mistoffelees, surged to her feet, and icily left the den.

"I shouldn't be surprised." Mistoffelees tried to chuckle. The sound died dryly in his throat. Tugger's only response was a neutral cock of the head. "Are the other kits around?"

"I saw Electra and Augusta for dinner." That was all Tugger had to say about it, awkwardly looking up and down Mistoffelees' body. "You're up and about?"

"I think the sickness is gone." No need to explain how or why, and Tugger didn't ask. He visibly relaxed and Mistoffelees took it as an invitation to sit. It was more of a drop than a proper sit but it didn't feel right to ask Tugger for help again. "Do you mind if I move back in?"

Tugger shrugged and picked at his mane. "It's your den too."

"That's not really what I asked."

Again Tugger shrugged, his attention entirely focused on picking stray hairs from his fur. There was a bit more silver in there than Mistoffelees remembered. Or had he just never noticed, because a tiny detail like that didn't matter when you still remembered how to talk to your mate?

Former mate. Maybe. He was too tired to talk or even think about that now.

"Mandra's fine," Mistoffelees said, grasping for as neutral a topic as any. He crawled over to the blanket nest, gratified that Tugger made no move or comment to stop him. "I saw her and spoke to her today. She's going to be fine."

"Good." Tugger's voice sounded tiny.

He'd been away from his den and his blankets for too long. They barely smelled like him anymore, but what was more alarming what how little they smelled like Tugger, either. Where had he been sleeping? Had he been sleeping?

Mistoffelees slid his claws in, kneading and fluffing and trying to get at least something in his life feeling like normal again. Tugger wasn't feeling chatty and any attempt at a conversation felt like a waste of time, so Mistoffelees fell into the blankets, curling up on his side, planning to sleep. The day already felt like it'd lasted an entire month.

The blankets dipped behind him and Tugger's scent joined him. He couldn't see what Tugger was doing but a bit of shifting and settling let him now that he wasn't alone in the blankets. There had to be about a foot of distance between them. No cuddling or warmth, but at least Tugger hadn't exiled himself to the back of the den. Small miracles.

Mistoffelees woke a few hours later. Uninterrupted sleep was a luxury when pregnant. He took a quick catalogue of every possible discomfort that could have woken him up.

His stomach felt fine. Bladder not full. Kittens not kicking yet. Not a leg cramp, and Everlasting Cat knows he'd been woken by one of those often enough. But he felt warm—in more ways than one.

Tugger had shifted in his sleep and unconsciously or otherwise, had curled his lanky body around Mistoffelees', softly snoring away in his ear.

Well. This wasn't so bad. Felt just like old times, and if Mistoffelees let himself drift off, he could almost pretend they were back where they were a few years ago, pregnant with the first litter, Tugger the ever-doting father. Before Macavity, before pain and suffering.

Sleep was tempting, but that meant Mistoffelees would miss out on Tugger's presence. Goodness knows he wasn't going to get much of this during waking hours, if ever again. With a shaky sigh, he pressed his paw against the one draped over his ribs, floppy with sleep. A tiny shift brought him closer to Tugger's body, to his scent, to the generous mane tickling the back of his neck. He could roll over and hug Tugger, could kiss him, could pretend everything was fine and nothing hurt.

Instead, he stayed as still as possible, savouring the warmth. Everything was blissful until something shifted and rolled and squirmed inside him.

Mistoffelees went rigid all over, as though struck by lightning. It could have been gas making the muscles under his stretched belly twitch like that, but it wasn't. He remembered this feeling, the jittery feel of mice skittering under the skin. He remembered the panic of feeling his first litter start to move, waking up Tugger to let him feel and comfort him through the shattering reality that the kittens in his stomach were real.

And hell, he'd never gotten to feel his second litter moving around. Macavity's brats were big and strong, of course. Life was cruel.

Tugger's paw was still resting on his ribs, inches away from the twitching swell. As much as he hated breaking this sleep-induced truce of physical affection, Mistoffelees squirmed and rolled and wedged himself free of Tugger's sleeping grasp before his former mate could feel the kittens moving.

A soft snort announced Tugger's return to the waking world. He was quiet, awake enough to realize what he'd done in his sleep, aware enough to believe Mistoffelees had deliberately squirmed away from his touch.

"… Sorry." The blankets shifted as Tugger put more distance between them. Mistoffelees could practically feel the emptiness spread between them. He wanted to cry. He'd done enough of that lately.

"S'okay."

Mistoffelees curled into a ball around the swell of his belly, stretching his paws out to deliberately avoid cupping the moving bundles within, the unsatisfied emptiness gnawing stronger at his insides.

Chapter Text

He'd put it off for as long as possible, but eventually the gentle prodding from Demeter, Munkustrap, and Jenny herself had convinced Mistoffelees to sit down and face the task.

Not a word from Tugger though. A week had passed since Mistoffelees moved back into the den. A week spent in awkward conversation, sleeping at opposite ends of the blankets (but at least not opposite ends of the den.) It wasn't good, but it was better than yelling.

When they did speak, it was never about the kittens now rolling in Mistoffelees' belly and straining his back and hips. It was about what to hunt for dinner or how Electra and Augusta were practicing for their mating dance at the Jellicle Ball. The Ball was four weeks away. Mistoffelees clung to that faraway goal, an abstract point that represented the time where everything would be okay again.

Kittens born. Mandra back home. Macavity and these kittens a distant memory. Tugger would be speaking to him again and everything would be all right.

Intellectually he knew he was missing a few crucial steps between current state and end state, but he was too busy clinging to that distant goal to care about the details right now.

In fact, his gaze stuck hard to the distant future, or at least the ceiling of Jenny's den, while the old queen hummed and hawed and pressed paws and ears against his belly. He was getting big, he knew that. With his returned appetite, Mistoffelees had set himself to eating everything in sight to make up for lost time, the pressure of the kittens against his stomach was enough to slow his appetite.

Things were so different this time. The relentless sickness had been an unexpected misery. It was gone but now he felt exhausted all the time, his joints strained to popping under the weight of the kittens. His hips ached. While he'd craved fish and rice pudding during his first pregnancy, now he felt himself longing for quail and curry, cravings he'd refused to indulge. For one, obtaining the food meant asking Macavity for help. But more distressing, indulging pregnancy cravings held such sweet memories for him that doing it now would taint those memories. At least he had enough energy now to waddle outside on his own to relieve himself. Such a small thing, dignity.

So he endured the hunger, just as he endured Tugger's frosty company and the leg cramps that were ever his companions these days. Jenny had had to stop her examination twice now to help him soothe a tightly twitching muscle, a distraction Mistoffelees resented because it meant the examination would just last longer.

With muscles finally behaving, Mistoffelees focused on disconnecting from what was happening, staring with acute interest at a small tear in the seam of the fabric lining the inside ceiling of the den. Florals. Nice choice.

He barely registered the absence of the pressure on his belly until Jenny spoke. "Well, things don't seem so bad, considering," she clucked. It took Mistoffelees a second to realize she was talking about the kittens and not the situation as a whole. "It wouldn't hurt to put on a bit more weight, of course…"

"How many are there?" Everlasting Cat, please not seven again.

He almost mistook Jenny's hesitation for bad news. "Only two. They seem strong and healthy."

"Only two." Mistoffelees went boneless with relief. "Thank goodness. It won't be as bad as last time."

Jenny made a tutting noise and grabbed his arm to help him sit. "Well, yes and no. The birth may not last as long this time—and second labors are often faster, let me tell you from experience! But dear, think of it this way. When your seven were competing to grow, they could only get so big. These two have a lot more space."

She cupped the left side of his belly, outlining a shape and making the kitten shift and kick Mistoffelees in the ribs. He winced and glared at the shape. Rotten little thing.

He cottoned on to what Jenny was saying though, gathering his legs together with faint revulsion. So far he'd treated thought of the upcoming labor and birth as merely one more step in the process, something to get over with. He'd done it before, he could do it again.

But bloody hell, the lump outlined between Jenny's paws was big. He imagined it wrestling its way towards the exit of his body, followed by its twin, and shuddered.

Everything about this situation had given him nothing but pain and shame, so what was one more thing?

"Oh, I'm sorry, Misto," Jenny soothed, stroking his head. He wasn't crying, dammit, but he had a feeling that if he opened his mouth to inform Jenny of that fact, a broken sob would exit. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Everything's going to be all right. You'll be here, I'll be here, and I'll support you the entire way. I have things to dull the pain and… well, poppet, have you decided who you'd like to have with you when the time comes to birth these kittens?"

Mistoffelees thought back to Tugger holding his paw and licking his face during contractions and holding their newborn kittens. He shook his head. "You said you'll be here, right? And… and Jellylorum too?"

"I wouldn't expect Jelly to be present, poor tired thing," Jenny sighed. "Ever since the fire, Gus has been getting worse and worse. Confused, aggressive… it's almost more than Jelly can handle, even with Skimble and myself there to help out. He'll finally be at peace after the Jellicle Ball."

Mistoffelees nodded mutedly. He wasn't the only one greatly anticipating the relief of the Jellicle Ball.

"Why not Demeter? She's your closest friend."

Ugh, the thought of putting Demeter through that again made his stomach turn. And the thought of tainting even more positive memories of the birth of his first litter by dragging Demeter into watching him press out these two monsters…

Jenny huffed a sigh as Mistoffelees used her for balance to swing his legs off the bed and stand up. "If not Demeter, then… Victoria, maybe? You need someone there for you, dear. I'm there to keep an eye on the progress of the kittens. You need someone there to comfort and support you, and only you."

"I'll try and think of someone. Thank you, Jenny." He left the den without a word. No need to get into how he didn't deserve any sort of support right now, how the only person who would reasonably bring him any sort of comfort was sitting tensely back in their den like they were awkward acquaintances instead of mates. But he was used to it by now, and if he could deal with that, then he could deal with having these kittens with no one holding his paw. He was almost disappointed that Jenny hadn't made a dark joke about asking Macavity to come over and play doting father.

Mandra was bored.

She missed home. She missed every single one of her pain-in-the-ass siblings, she missed her parents, she missed the fussing and noise of every well-meaning and overbearing Jellicle.

Heck. She even missed Jenny and Jelly and Jezebel's singing lessons. The thought made her smile before her throat went tight. She should have enjoyed Jezebel's presence while she still had the chance. She should have enjoyed everything about the junkyard while she still had the chance. She was never going to take anything for granted again, especially not her father's willingness to sacrifice his body and soul for her safety.

Mandra sighed her tears away. She was going to have to find a way to make this up to him. Keep her den clean forever. Hunt his meals for him until the end of his days. Hug him every hour. Practice her magic so he'd be proud.

Magic. Well, at least she'd had plenty of time to develop magic skills, meager as they were. She had exactly one trick up her sleeve, and working it felt like the equivalent of working out the muscle of one leg and one leg only. Lopsided, but strong.

Not to mention useless. Mandra rolled over, propping her head up while she picked at the junk pile she'd amassed in the centre of the room, next to her blankets. After several thorough explorations of the basement, she'd gathered all the trinkets of interest to her and alternated between piling them up, lining them up, knocking them down, and magicking them all over the basement.

There was nothing there she should use as a weapon. Nothing sharp, nothing heavy or blunt enough. Just toys, broken trinkets, shiny little things good for entertainment.

She picked one toy out of the pile, a blue glass trinket shaped like a frog. The glass was too sturdy for her to break, the body too smooth to hurl at someone's face. She held it in her palm, a tiny crease of concentration between her eyes, and the frog vanished. It was exciting how effortless it was now.

There was no clatter in the basement. Mandra concentrated a little harder and the frog returned to her palm, the glassy surface slick and cold from the snow. She could do that now, send objects through solid matter. The front porch was as far as she could send things, but whether it was due to her weakling magic or Macavity's protective wards, she couldn't say.

Useless for escaping, but at least she was keeping busy. She couldn't wait to show Cappella. Maybe next she could start working on perfecting a heating spell.

Moonlight spilled through the high basement window as Mandra yawned and stretched, stomach growling. Lunch would be coming any moment now. At least seeing Vincenzo three times a day was a perk to look forward to. Selfishly, she was grateful for his kind presence, even though the scruffy tom grew progressively scruffier every day. It was difficult to know exactly what happened in the den above her head.

A few times, a different cat had delivered her meals. Nameless toms and queens who sneered or worse, ignored her completely. Twice, that bag-of-bones queen Sedna had dumped her bowl of food, complaining about being too old to traipse up and down stairs to feed a brat. Mandra wondered about her. Too old to be Macavity's mate, too sharp to be anyone's mother.

And then there was Bixbite, the scarred tom who seemed way too invested in the family saga happening here. He was difficult to read, what with one eye fused shut with conspicuous claw marks, but Mandra had the strangest impression that he'd only volunteered to deliver her food so he could leer at her.

But none of that today. It was Vincenzo who appeared once the familiar scrape of bureau from the basement entrance finished rattling the air. Mandra hopped to her feet to greet him, stopping short when she noticed his paws weren't weighted down with the plate of food Macavity normally reserved for her. So much food, as though he were trying to plump her up for something. But, not today.

"Vincenzo?" Something was wrong. The brown tom was always on the skittish side but today he looked downright terrified.

"C'mon. We only got a couple minutes." He grabbed her arm before she had a chance to ask questions or protest. She had questions though, about whatever the hell Macavity had asked him to do, dragging his favourite hostage up the stairs like that and past the bureau, pulled to the side with magic. It was only when Vincenzo squeezed her back against the bureau while he checked the hallway did it occur to her that Macavity hadn't asked him to do anything.

Which meant they were now both as good as dead. Well, maybe not Mandra. She was valuable. But, Vincenzo?

She resisted when he tried to pull her out into the hallway. They had maybe two seconds to put this right before anyone noticed. "No! Vin-"

More frantic pulling. Maybe he thought she didn't understand what he was trying to do. "I'm getting you out of here! We need to run for the front door."

"I know what you're doing! He'll kill you."

"Not if we hurry-!" He was anything but stealthy, shaking so hard he nearly wrenched Mandra's shoulder out of its socket.

Bloody idiot. Poor, bloody idiot. He was stronger than Mandra, and her desperation to save the misguided tom wasn't lending her the strength she needed to break free of his grasp. Of course he thought she was scared, rooted to the spot out of a terror of being caught. And, well, she was scared, but not for herself.

Well, the least she could do was stop making things worse for him. She followed, keeping her footfalls silent as he pulled her through the hallways, taking the long way around to the front door as though somehow Macavity would never think of looking left instead of right in his own house. He probably already knew they were escaping.

A confused young tom with a scabbed ear blocked the end of the hallway right before the front door. Mandra couldn't remember seeing him before, which meant he'd never seen her before, which also meant he didn't immediately panic or resist when she and Vincenzo barreled down the hallway.

The front door was right there. A shining beacon with the pale moonlight spilling in through that half-circle window near the top. Surely not, surely this stupid escape attempt wasn't going to work, not when her own father with all his magic couldn't break in, not where the entire strength of the Jellicle tribe couldn't storm this place, but sometimes the small and unexpected really was the key to survival.

Vincenzo's claws slammed on the doorknob, turning it, pulling it, introducing a blast of cold air to the den.

It was the first fresh air Mandra had smelled in weeks.

It lasted all of two seconds, before two sinuous feline forms blocked the door before they could put a paw beyond it, eyeing the would-be escapees with glee and pink forever staining the fur of their chins and bellies.

Eris. Cesare. She knew these two, because she'd watched them tear Jezebel apart, enjoying every squelch of blood and flesh, wearing the stain of said blood in their fur like war badges.

Vincenzo made a squeak of fear. He hadn't released Mandra's arm yet, so hell-bent on this one good deed, and now he nearly knocked her on her tail as he spun away from the cackling, hissing twin henchcat and dragged her back inside.

Adrenaline made her follow as much as the paw tugging her arm. Maybe they could still do this. If they could dodge, find an open window, escape to the road, all they had to do was run faster than the fastest henchcat, fast until they were back in the safety of the junkyard and Mandra could tell her father he didn't have to do the awful thing he'd agreed to do.

"Argh! Seriously?" They'd almost made it to the small dining room when Vincenzo slammed shoulder-first into Sedna's bony body, the force propelling them all into the room. At long last did Vincenzo release Mandra's arm. She scrabbled against the table, laden with food, catching herself before toppling head-first into a bowl of sardine perched on the edge of the table.

That was it, then. Because if Sedna was there, glaring at the would-be escapees as though they were unruly kittens, then surely Macavity wouldn't be far—and sure enough.

Macavity somehow managed to fill the entire, humans-sized doorway as he materialized next to Sedna and took a weighty, quiet moment to assess the situation. A moment in which Vincenzo awkwardly landed on his knees, fat tears rolling in his fur, paws up and open as though it would make a difference to Macavity's judgement.

"And what," the Hidden Paw coolly asked. "Happened here?"

Macavity was no simpleton. Even without Sedna to properly explain the scene, or those two damn blood-stained white twins who scampered into the dining room now, he would have no trouble putting together the scene. Mandra was as good as obedient, and she almost felt resentment in the way Macavity had no eyes for her just then, gazing down at the doomed Vincenzo.

The brown tom didn't even try to defend himself between heaving sobs. Mandra's resentment helped itself to some guilt as well. Maybe if she'd run a little faster, maybe if she hadn't wasted precious seconds trying to convince Vincenzo he was signing his own death warrant…

Maybe if she could try doing something now, instead of standing there docilely…

Eris and Cesare prowled, unwilling to wait for an order, or maybe having understood a quiet, unspoken one. Mandra backed up, bumping the table, averting her eyes as the twins circled and sniffed the crying brown lump on the floor.

She stared at the table of food. Forks and knives littered the spaces between plates, sharp and glinting. A fork in Macavity's eye would be satisfying, if she suspected she ever had a chance of getting close enough to show him the gravy-laden tines.

Something hard and blunt poked her in the back, giving way a bit when she leaned back against it, focusing on that instead of the hissing and licking and whimpering noises filling the small room. She slipped her paw behind her and felt the cool handle of a knife, sticking out the top of a joint of meat.

A knife, between Macavity's cold, unfeeling ribs. She could do it. She could try, while Macavity was distracted by Vincenzo's pleas, by his low scream and loud squelches as the twins went for his throat.

She could throw it. Knick his fur, maybe hope for it to land on his foot. Hell, aim for Sedna instead, and rattle Macavity by dispatching his girlfriend or whatever she was supposed to be.

She would die, though. The worst part of that was that her father's awful sacrifice would be in vain if she died here. So, what had her father taught her?

Mandra fixed her gaze to a porcelain cup on the table, broken in the tussle. Fought to block out the noises as Vincenzo stopped screaming and the twins continued whatever fun they got out of chewing on a cat's dead body.

Another forgotten stray from Victoria Grove, dispatched in Macavity's clutches. No one, she knew, escaped Macavity's clutches. He'd died trying to save her.

No one else was going to die for her.

Mandra held her breath, closed her paw around the handle, and focused on feeling the magic flow until the handle of the knife vanished from under her grasp.

She kept her eyes on that broken little cup, jumping out of her fur when Macavity's paw landed on her shoulder. "I apologize for that," he rumbled. It wasn't clear if he was apologizing for Vincenzo's dismemberment at her feet, the ill-fated escape attempt, or some other element at play not clear to Mandra. "Let's get you settled again, shall we?"

For a horrible moment Mandra wondered if that was Macavity-speak for an ill fate of her own, but all he did was lead her out of room, around the spreading puddle of gore that used to be Vincenzo, back into the hallway. There came the resentment again, at how easily Mandra let herself be guided back to the basement like some fragile little thing, barely a blip on Macavity's threat radar. Bastard. Bastard.

"I'll have Bixbite bring your dinner." Over Macavity's parting words, Mandra allowed herself a shrill hiss of defiance, skin twitching as the wardrobe slid back into place with a scrape.

She paced the length of the floor a few times until she'd managed to get the adrenaline stamped down. After sucking in a few breaths, she was able to calm her fight-ready nerves, retracting her claws, slowing her furious pulse. With a calmer mind, she had a look at the carefully crafted pile of junk she'd put together to entertain herself.

Mandra grinned.

In the middle of the junk and toys, there was the knife.

Chapter Text

Sedna greeted him at the door after today’s henchcat watched Mistoffelees lumber up to the den. He’d stopped feeling scared of the henchcats ages ago, but now he felt something much more frightening: familiarity. He was starting to know their names, for Everlasting’s sake. He was this close to asking them how their day was, read any good books lately, hey how’s that new pub in Victoria Grove?

Mistoffelees resisted the urge to ask the lanky Sedna what she was up to that day, and pasted on his most sullen expression. Sedna shrugged, responded in kind, and brought him to the basement for his weekly visit to see Mandra.

“Don’t fall,” Sedna sniggered as she watched him negotiate his way down the basement stairs. “You’re so big now, you’re liable to pop and spill all your hard work on the floor.”

Disgusting. Mistoffelees paid her no heed. The end was in sight, lending him a sort of clarity about the entire situation. The Jellicle Ball was three weeks away. That meant the kittens were due in two weeks. Second litters usually came faster, which meant it could even be earlier than that.

For both Mistoffelees and Mandra, the end was in sight. She must have been thinking so too; she had a brightness to her eyes as they sat and spoke and ate, and Mistoffelees might even have dared say he was in a good mood.

Two weeks. A few hours to pop out these creatures, a jaunty walk to Macavity’s den to drop them off on the porch, and this would all be over.

He was almost whistling a tune as he lumbered back up the stairs, one hand on the wall for support, the other bracing under his belly. Sedna was disgusting, but not wrong: he did feel ready to pop, fur and skin already stretched thin. When he pressed into the swell, he could feel the deep striations under the fur.

It took him a moment to catch his breath when he reached the top. And then the breath turned sour in his throat when the cat grinning at the top of the stairs was not Sedna, but Bixbite.

He’d grown uglier over the years. Or maybe Mistoffelees had had more pressing concerns back then, instead of scrutinizing a henchcat’s potential for a beauty pageant. Or maybe his hatred had simmered over the years, lending him an unflattering lens for anything that didn’t involve home, and his family.

“How are we feeling, mama?” Bixbite somehow managed to gather every ounce of bile and mocking within a ten-mile radius and injected it into that last word. Mistoffelees made himself stare at the tom’s ruined eye, sealed shut with scar tissue, feeling a little better as he recalled the circumstances that put it there.

Both paws under his belly, he made to lumber past Bixbite, a little surprised to find there was no resistance. No physical resistance, at least. Bixbite heaved a long, dramatic sigh at Mistoffelees’ retreating back.

“How does it feel? Knowing everything you did was for nothing? All that fighting you did, all that running, all the pain, all for nothing? You’re exactly where Macavity wanted you.”

His paws tingled, burned. Magical energy, but not the familiar cool lightning of his own magic. Fire burned in his palms, licked along his veins until they suggested a very vivid image to his brain: Bixbite, his face crushed between black and white paws, flesh and fur and skull engulfed in flame.

It was tempting. So tempting, that Mistoffelees could swear he saw the fire flickering from his paws when he looked down, clenching them into submission.

No answer was the best answer, but Bixbite didn’t seem to see it that way. Mistoffelees’ determined path towards the front door was blocked by a solid, ugly mass of posturing tom.

“Tell Demeter I said ‘hello, lovey.’”

A swipe of claws and a snarl split the air between them. Not fire, as much as it would have helped, and Mistoffelees’ balance was too askew for him to land any sort of a satisfying blow on Bixbite. He derived whatever satisfaction he could from feeling two of his claws catch flesh and come free with a spurt of blood.

Bixbite leapt back and snickered, despite the blood dirtying his already dirty brown fur. Mistoffelees wanted more, to draw more blood, to picture Macavity’s head on Bixbite’s body and claw and spit and bite until…

“Bixbite, you absolute cock. I leave for two minutes to take a damn piss and you’re all over Mac’s plaything? Go bugger a mouse.”

Mistoffelees panted, hackles still raised, directed his hatred at Sedna for getting between him and his prey before adrenaline drained and reason returned, and he realized he was probably never going to do more than land weak scratches at Bixbite. Weak, useless, used.

If it wasn’t for the dizzying drain of energy muddling his senses, Mistoffelees would have found a moment to marvel at Bixbite’s grudging deference to the bag-of-bones queen. He made quite sure to catch Mistoffelees’ eye before slinking off to more interesting parts of the house without a comment.

Sedna didn’t seem to care or notice, scratching at her hindquarters. “Right, take a breath or something and then go on home. Put your feet up and do whatever you do while you wait for Mac’s brood to finish cooking.”

Mistoffelees probably should have thanked her for the help. The fact alone that he was feeling grateful for her presence was maddening. He’d avoided thinking of anything past the end of the pregnancy and the return of Mandra but now the thought of tiny kittens scampering around, taunted by henchcats who knew nothing about what little ones needed, made him swallow thickly.

“Will you be there?” He didn’t look at Sedna as he asked. He sensed her eyes on him all the same. “After they’re born, when I bring them? Will you take care of them?”

“I ain’t nursing the little runts, if that’s what you’re after. That well dried up a long time ago.”

He stared at her bony arms and skinny chest and tried to picture tiny, helpless kittens snuggling in there, crying out for love and for the familiar scent of their parent. Would Macavity cuddle them? Bathe them? Is that what Sedna was meant to do here?

“You’ll be able to feed them, right?”

“We’ll have milk, we’re not daft.”

“And you’ve got--”

Sedna’s chuckle was loud and ugly. It would have scared a kitten awake. “Bast, you wanna help decorate the nursery? I thought you didn’t care about the little brats.”

“I don’t.”

“Good. I don’t either, but hey…” She shrugged, the motion exaggerated by her effort to look effortless about it. “Old hags like me don’t have lots of options on the streets. I keep your brats alive, I stay alive.”

Because Macavity always got what he wanted, whether it was hired muscle, a vessel to bear his children, or a nursemaid to raise them. Something dangerously close to sympathy welled up in Mistoffelees’ chest as he stared at the bored-looking queen before him. Like him, she acted as she pleased in Macavity’s presence, lording over the den as though invincible. He could picture Macavity sitting down his gaggle of henchcats and coldly threatening them with grievous harm if they so much as breathed wrong on the queen who was to bottle-feed and rock and tend to his upcoming kittens.

Surely he’d had a similar conversation concerning Mistoffelees. Touch the carrier of my heirs, and drown in your own entrails. It was a nice deal for Mistoffelees, at least until the kittens were out and dropped on Macavity’s porch.

Did he have similar leverage over Sedna? Was there another den, tucked away somewhere, with a kit or a grandkit chained in the basement to ensure the collaboration of an otherwise reluctant queen?

He almost wanted to ask her. He almost wanted to feel sorry for her, and that was something he needed to quell right away before it festered. Damn. Damn hormones.

“Good for you,” Mistoffelees muttered. He stomped out of the house, sidestepping and otherwise ignoring a large, rusty stain on the floor. He wasn’t going to feel sorry for anyone involved in this situation, including himself.

***

Dignity be damned; Mistoffelees stumbled into Victoria’s den the moment she opened the door with Lyrette on her hip, did his very best not to bowl them over with his massive belly, and collapsed with the grace of a drunken pollicle on the nearest pillow.

“And a good evening to you, too.” There sympathy in Victoria’s voice as she joined Mistoffelees near his throne of misery. Maybe bite would have more palatable than the Bast-damned pity all over her eyes.

He’d accepted her invitation because he wanted a distraction, damn it, not a stark reminder of what was happening.

Having Lyrette nearby helped. Victoria placed the tiny queen on a cushion, from which she wasted no time to escape and make for the all-natural cushion of Mistoffelees’ belly instead, gurgling in victory. “Guh! Ma!”

Mistoffelees smiled. Kittens grew up so fast, yet it felt like an eternity since he’d last relaxed here with Victoria. Lyrette’s eyes had only just opened at the time, enough for her to giggle at his magic tricks. And of course, she had the one-track mind of a kitten, staring up at him all expectantly in search of more magic. Kittens had incredible memories when it came to fun treats.

“I missed you too, cutie.”

“Merf!”

“Where’s Plato and your other two terrors?” He petted Lyrette’s head, who purred and swatted at his paw, hoping to dislodge some magic out of it.

“Plato took them on their first hunt. If I’m lucky, they’ll bring back a pinecone and two leaves for dinner.”

Who would take his kittens out on their first hunt? Macavity? He shuddered. Not Bixbite, surely not.

Victoria was staring at his belly, he could tell. Wondering what sort of critters were currently squirming inside. With the extended sickness and his self-imposed exile to Demeter’s den, Mistoffelees hadn’t had much chance to parade his body around the junkyard, and now he could feel the stares, could feel the whispered conversations and the gossip and the opinions even through the walls of Victoria’ den. Folk were curious, morbidly so. He could tell.

The day he gave birth, he knew the first question for Jenny would be “Well?? What did they look like?” As though evil was somehow a trait measured in the physical, like the pattern of stripes on fur or a crooked tail.

“Bah!” Lyrette swatted at his paw, and Mistoffelees was all too happy for the distraction.

“You want to see some more magic, darling? All right, let’s see…”

He could have made a tiny bolt of lightning appear. Could have made another illusion, like a hummingbird or a flower. But sometimes magic took the path of least resistance, and when Mistoffelees held out his paw and concentrated, a tiny loop of fire arched from his palm. He made it coil, dance, squirm around like a caterpillar around a branch.

His audience approved. At least, half of his audience approved; Lyrette clapped and squealed at the sight of the plume of fire, while Victoria looked as though she was inspecting a dead mouse for palatability.

“That trick is new.”

Mistoffelees shrugged neutrally. He made the flame stretch, then dance from finger to finger. “I’m always learning new magic. I figured out how to heat stones this winter.”

“Fire, though?”

She could have been thinking of the fire that had nearly gutted their entire home all those weeks ago. She could have been thinking of the cat who normally commanded fire at his fingertips, and how that cat was not Mistoffelees.

He refused to let those thoughts percolate, if only to avoid thinking of the implications. “It’ll come in handy next winter.”

He had to stop, though. Not just to forestall more questions from Victoria, but because he only had so much energy to dedicate to magic, and the kittens were squirming uncomfortably in his belly from the effort.

Or maybe not. He was feeling flushed, tight, tracking the sensation of the burn from his palms to his chest to his belly. A static sort of feeling danced over his fur, small sparks dusting the black, and Mistoffelees reacted as though slapped.

Oh no.

He knew this feeling. Not labor, but the other thing, the one that came first. Bloody Everlasting hell, he’d forgotten about that.

He closed his paw, snuffing out the flame, earning a distraught huff from Lyrette. Poor kit. Last thing he wanted was to upset her even more, but…

“Victoria,” he rasped, letting himself flop down on the cushions. “Something’s… going to happen. Just… don’t worry, this… this is normal. Pick up Lyrette… it--”

The feeling was strange. Knowing what it was and why it was happening made it easier to bear. A stuttered moan squeaked out all the same and Mistoffelees didn’t bother to fight it.

Victoria did as told, scooping up her daughter and watching with big frightful eyes as Mistoffelees writhed and groaned and glowed white-hot, his body shifting and reforming. It felt like a speeder process than last time, and soon Mistoffelees was left panting, the heat and glow fading from his fur. He strained his paw past his belly to feel the juncture between his legs, and flopped boneless again when he found what he expected: everything he needed to give birth the traditional way, courtesy of his magic.

“Misto?” Victoria squeaked. Lyrette giggled obliviously, enjoying the lightshow. “Everlasting, is it time?”

One of the kits protested the action with a barrage of indignant kicks. Mistoffelees pressed his paw to the bouncing swell (not rubbing, damn it, he wasn’t comforting these kits, just trying to get them to stop mashing their paws into his guts) and waited until the soreness was bearable before hoisting himself up onto creaky elbows with a tired breath. “No, no, it isn’t. This happened last time. It’s, um… it’s just my body getting ready.

Victoria’s eyes flicked downward before she caught herself with a shy cough. “Oh. So you’ve got… oh.”

“I’m still a tom,” Mistoffelees said, as though there was some kind of need to clarify his gender expression despite his magic ‘helpfully’ arranging things for him. “It’s normal for me. It means the kittens will be ready soon.”

Maybe. He had no real frame of reference for this, only one past experience, but like so many things these days, it was worth holding on to for hope’s sake. Any day now, he would be rid of these kittens, and receive his body, his family, and his life back.

Victoria slowly relaxed, putting the squirming kitten back down on the pillows. Mistoffelees smiled and extended a paw. It was shaking slightly, but strong as he made a tiny fireball flare into life in the centre of his palm, bouncing it around to Lyrette’s delight.

***

The walk home was slow and lumbering, not least because Mistoffelees was in no particular hurry to rejoin Tugger in their den. Being out and about meant stares, but Mistoffelees was too tired to care. Having your nether parts rearranged took a lot out of you, go figure.

It was a concrete sign of impending labor, and a reminder of Jenny’s request not so long ago: for him to find someone to attend the birth with him. He hadn’t worked up the courage to ask Victoria, and while he briefly considered Plato, he nixed the idea just as quickly. There was no way he could put Demeter through that trauma again. Tugger was out of the question. Skimble, maybe? Somehow, that didn’t feel right.

But Jenny was right. He had to ask someone, and soon.

Fine.

His legs took him in the direction of a familiar den. Before he could convince himself to avoid dealing with any thoughts of the impending birth, he knocked on the door. It swung open a moment later.

“Misto! It’s good to see you. Is everything all right?”

“Just fine,” Mistoffelees said. He sighed and smiled tightly up at Munkustrap. “I have a big favor to ask you.”

Chapter Text

The days at once moved excruciatingly slow and dizzyingly fast as Mistoffelees’ due date approached, lending a surreal sort of feeling to the entire situation.

He’d reached the familiar point of feeling like the kittens could kick their way right out of him if he didn’t press back against their battering paws, the point of feeling just so big that a single bite of fish felt as though it was competing with the bundles inside him. His days were reduced to restless napping, during which he spent more time tossing and turning on blankets and pillows, resigned to the fact that every new position relieved an ache in one part of his body, and created a new ache in a different part.

Long walks were a distant memory, which suited him just fine. He got enough “fresh air”, as Jenny insisted, from his too-frequent trips to relieve his bladder. He was otherwise grateful to be away from eyes and gossip.

Tugger came by their den to sleep, occasionally to bring him food. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes about Mandra, usually about nonsense to fill the silence. Never about the kittens in his belly.

Cyrano came by often. As did Tourmaline, and Cappella, and Aloysius, and even Augusta, when she could spare some time from preparing for her mating dance with Electra for the upcoming Jellicle Ball. He never saw Josephine, though that wasn’t exactly a new development.

And then, there was Munkustrap. He’d readily agreed to be present for the birth, and his reaction to being asked was pure Munkustrap: nerves, and then a full-hearted determination to perform this task to the best of his ability. He visited often to talk, to ask questions and prepare, and he was the only one with whom Mistoffelees tolerated talk of the kittens to come.

As the days ticked by, the Jellicle Ball was on everyone’s mind. Mistoffeless was due one week before the Ball, and talk of Ball preparations were both a welcome distraction and a dreadful reminder of the deadline to finally being rid of the kittens.

His daughter was preparing for her mating dance. Jellylorum was heard rehearsing a somber song for Gus. He’d heard a rumour (from Cappella) that Munkustrap was debating cancelling the yearly performance of The Pekes and the Pollicles, out of respect for the mood that was likely to follow Mistoffelees’ delivery of the kittens. When Munkustrap next visited, Mistoffelees made it extremely clear to him that he wanted the Ball to be normal, and joyous, and that by then, he was going to be done thinking about being pregnant with Macavity’s kittens.

The next he heard about it was that Aloysius had been cast as the Great Rumpus Cat, and it felt nice to finally hear some good news.

The mood in the junkyard was charged and melancholy, and exactly one week before the Ball, right on his due date, Mistoffelees sat in his den, trembling paws cupped around his prodigious belly, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Outside, the rumble of life and the bustle of Ball preparations continued.

It was unusual, Jenny said, for second litters to be late, but not unheard of. The kittens were still moving just fine (as Mistoffelees could grumblingly attest to), they just seemed to be taking their time. There were things he could do, Jenny said, to help induce labour. One of those things was mating. Like that was an option at the moment.

So Mistoffelees resolved to wait, counting the days, until he woke up the night of the Jellicle Ball, still hugely pregnant, plastering a serene expression over his rapidly crumbling sanity.

***

“Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Mistoffelees had just spent five minutes maneuvering into a sitting position, and that was after spending thirty minutes struggling to groom whatever fur he could still reach. After that much work, he was committed, even though the thought of attending the Jellicle Ball left him exhausted.

He shrugged and gratefully took Tugger’s paw to help steady himself before he face-planted back onto the blankets. “Our daughter is performing her mating dance, Tugger. I wouldn’t miss that for anything.”

Tugger made a quick noise of agreement. Mistoffelees wondered if they were thinking the same thing: today should have been all about their daughter, and yet here he was, still round as could be with overdue kittens. No, he wouldn’t have missed Augusta’s mating dance for anything, and he breathed a quick prayer for these kittens to stay put until the Ball was over.

“Besides, I could use a distraction,” Mistoffelees said airily. While he’d struggled not to roll ass over teakettle while grooming, Tugger had done a quick spruce of his own. Not much to be done about the weariness behind his eyes or the extra grey in his mane, but he did clean up nicely. “Hey… you look good today.”

Tugger grinned at the compliment, before remembering… well, everything. The little glimmer of pride and excitement faded away behind a shallow nod. “Thanks. Ready to try standing up?”

“No, but unless you can find a wheelbarrow, it’s my only option for getting out there.”

Tugger grinned again, and the time the brightness stayed in his eyes as he held out his paws and let Mistoffelees use him as he needed to start the journey to his paws. He got one leg under him before collapsing back to his rear with a hiss, releasing Tugger’s paws to grasp at the fur below his knee.

“Leg cramp?” Tugger dropped into a crouch next to him.

Mistoffelees nodded with an irritated moan, flattening his ears against his skull. Of all the aches and pains of pregnancy, this wasn’t the worst, but it was definitely in the top five in terms of annoyance. His calf twitched under the assault of the cramp, and he was so preoccupied by the pain that he jumped when Tugger’s paws made contact with his leg.

“Tugger--” “

Don’t worry, I remember how to do this.”

Tugger’s broad palm rubbed against the tight muscle of his calf, warming it up, coaxing it to relax. The tension slowly evaporated and Tugger dug deeper, running his thumbs along Mistoffelees’ leg and massaging around the knee joint. Before he knew it, a deep purr erupted from Mistoffelees’ chest. Was he so touch-starved that someone groping his leg was getting him wound up? Tugger didn’t comment on the purr, massaging the leg with quiet devotion. It was a comfortable moment. A comfortable, familiar moment.

The early days of their relationship were etched in Mistoffelees’ mind, and he’d often daydream with a smile while he thought back to those times. The days before the Jellicle Ball, what felt like years ago. Mistoffelees’ first Ball, as a matter of fact. He’d danced and practiced until his legs ached, and that was how he’d ended up with his legs in Tugger’s lap, flirting-but-not-flirting, enjoying a massage while they bantered.

Everlasting, he’d been so young back then. And then the Ball started, the Jellicle Moon had him in his grip, and a week later he was Tugger’s mate, and pregnant with his kittens. It felt like an entire lifetime ago.

Those kittens were grown up now. Taking mates. Finding their way through life. One was waiting to come home.

He missed those days. That was probably why Mistoffelees didn’t say anything as the leg cramp was long gone, and let Tugger massage his leg, stealing a moment to remember the good, early days. Maybe Tugger was thinking the same.

It lasted until a pop and a flash of light shook the outside of the den, making Tugger yelp in surprise and drop Mistoffelees’ leg. The noise erupted just outside their den, and was following by Cappella barging through the front door with a flourish.

“Did you see that? That was me!”

Tugger clutched his chest. “Wonderful, I’ll let you know what I thought once this heart attack is over. What was that?”

“Um, fireworks?” Cappella meekly twisted her paws in front of her. “Uncle Munk said I could do fireworks at the Ball. I’ve been practicing, don’t worry!”

Mistoffelees stamped down the feeling of guilt, of I should have been helping her practice and smiled at his daughter, pawing at Tugger’s arm to indicate he was willing to try standing up again. “That was loud and bright and terrifying, which means those were perfect fireworks. I can’t wait to see them. Just… maybe don’t set them off too close to Munkustrap’s tail, got it?”

Cappella grinned. “No, don’t worry! I wouldn’t do that… I mean, not again. That’s what rehearsals are for, after all…”

With Tugger’s generous efforts, Mistoffelees found himself back on his feet, free of cramps, mostly free of aches. He wiggled his tail until his spine seemed to settle and smoothed over his chest fur one last time.

Ugh. He accidentally brushed against his nipples and tried not to make a face. They ached, and Mistoffelees ignored them. It wasn’t as though he would be using them this time.

But that didn’t matter. Tonight was not about what was gestating in his belly. Tonight, his daughter was going to dance and take her mate. His other daughter was going to conjure magic to entertain. His son was performing as the Rumpus Cat. He would be there, in the moment, and appreciate these small triumphs.

“All right,” Mistoffelees nodded, pasting on a reasonable approximation of a smile. “Let’s go singe Munk’s tail. Is everyone else ready?”

“Augusta is feeling nervous. I told her she was being a twit, but it didn’t seem to help.”

“Of course,” Tugger chuckled softly. “Why don’t I go talk to her? You make sure your dad makes it to the Ball, okay?”

Tugger planted a quick kiss on the top of Cappella’s head and disappeared through the door of the den. Mistoffelees tried his honest best not to feel jealous at the sight. He missed Tugger’s kisses.

“Well!” Cappella forced a blustering smile, planting her paws on her ample hips. “Want to uh… lean on me or something? Josephine calls me fat, but I prefer to think of it as ‘sturdy’. I’m extra sturdy! I can protect you if you need me to.”

“I’m not that infirm, but thank you.” Mistoffelees chuckled. Standing up stole his breath, but he could handle it. A few twists and pops to get his hips feeling like they weren’t going to split apart, and he was good to walk.

And so they went, to the Jellicle Ball.

***

Mistoffelees spent most of the night from his vantage point on the remains of an old wood-burning oven, close enough to watch the action while staying out of the way of those who were younger and more nimble and not pregnant. Someone had thrown some blankets on the oven for him. The night was cool and comfortable. The Jellicle Moon shone brightly, and Mistoffelees watched the Ball unfold.

He watched the dances, listened to the songs, and stayed in the moment. He didn’t miss how Demeter more often than not found herself dancing by him, as did Cyrano, and Tourmaline, and most of his other children, and Cassandra and Jenny, as though their proximity would keep him from evaporating.

Etcetera and Tumblebrutus opened the ball with a playful dance, and Cappella spiced up Munkustrap’s opening number with fireworks, which were as bright as they were loud, and most of which managed to avoid sparking on Munkustrap’s tail.

It was followed by a first song, a poetic number from Alonzo and Cassandra’s son, who’d been spending more and more time away from the junkyard, and now shared a song about his new life as Serapis, the Library Cat.

Old Deuteronomy, who’d arrived long in advance of the Ball, sang about love shining brightly in the darkest of times.

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer had come prepared with a ditty about a diamond heist (any resemblance to actual diamond heists were purely coincidental.)

He watched the performance of Pekes and the Pollicles, smiling fondly as Aloysius positively chewed up the scenery as the Rumpus Cat. Definitely Tugger’s son, that one.

And then, the Jellicle Ball dance. He dearly wished he could participate in the group dance that had brought him so much joy in the past, such a sense of contentment and belonging. From across the group, he spotted Jellylorum, also sitting out the dance. She sat on a pillow with Gus at her side, her paw on the old theatre cat’s ragged arm. Her aim was to keep him calm in case his mind wandered and his mood changed, but Gus seemed in high spirits, smiling merrily as he watched the dance.

Mistoffelees met her eyes, and she gave him a nod and a tired smile. He smiled back, feeling her weariness in his bones. They both had their heartaches to deal with. It was no secret who was likely to ascend to the Heaviside Layer tonight.

His thoughts strayed to Mandra as the Jellicle dance wound down, lamenting how she was supposed to be here, she was supposed to be dancing out there and forgetting all about Macavity. And then the crowd parted, and Electra took center stage, and Mistoffelees willed himself to be in the moment.

Augusta stepped out, not a hint of nerves on her smiling face as she took Electra’s hand, letting herself be led into a graceful pirouette. She slid to a stop behind Electra, draping her paws around Electra’s torso, then her hips, and Mistoffelees held his breath as Augusta lifted her mate, seating her on her shoulder, spinning in a graceful arc for all to see. With an elegant flourish, Electra went into a backbend as August knelt down, setting Electra back on the ground.

Clasping their paws, they spun around, broke free, and Augusta turned back towards her mate. Once again, Mistoffelees held his breath as Augusta took a running leap into Electra’s arms, allowing Electra to lift her for a moment, twirling once around before August’s feet landed on the ground again, the two queens close and entwined, finishing their dance with a graceful, perfectly synchronized slide to the ground.

From where he sat, Mistoffelees could see the stars in their eyes as they grinned, gazing at each other, ignoring the collective purrs and murmurs of appreciation as the remaining Jellicles clustered together again to bask in the Jellicle moon.

It was official: his daughter was mated, and the moment was happy enough to chase some of the weight away from Mistoffelees’ heart. He looked for Tugger, and found him staring at Augusta and Electra, a big goofy grin on his face and mist in his eyes, and Mistoffelees never wanted more to run into Tugger’s arms and stay there forever.

Mistoffelees clung to the rare moment of happiness for as long as he could. As he watched everyone settle, he sort of missed the furtive attention he’d been receiving all evening, and now hoped against hope that Tugger would come sit by him until the Ball resumed.

“You’re not supposed to be alone.”

Oh. It wasn’t Tugger, and the voice was haughty with just a hint of resentment, as always. And yet, Mistoffelees had never been happier to hear that voice. “I’m not alone, am I? You’re right here with me.”

Josephine shrugged. “Didn’t want you to trip and fall into a hole.”

“That’s hardly going to happen if all I can do is sit here. Wouldn’t you rather be out there resting with everyone else?”

With a haughty sniff and a fluff of her mane, Josephine managed to convey ‘I do what I want’ without words. Mistoffelees could respect that right now.

“So let me guess, no one’s allowed to leave me out of their sight in case something happens?”

Josephine nodded. If nothing else, he could always trust her brutal honesty. “Jenny’s worried you’re depressed and might hide away. And that if you fall or the kittens are ready to come, you won’t be able to get back up and get help. So someone is supposed to watch you at all times, even during the songs. She told us all before the Ball. You’re not supposed to know.”

“Our little secret, then.”

She sat down next to him on the oven, eyes fixed on a spot in the distance rather than on her father. But hey, she was here, and she was talking to him, and Mistoffelees considered that a victory. They’d never had the easiest of relationships, him and Josephine. She had so much of Tugger in her, except for Tugger’s undying devotion to Mistoffelees. It was no secret she preferred her other father.

“I’ve been thinking,” Josephine said after a weighty silence. That note of effortless authority in her voice was all Tugger.

“About what?”

“Macavity is a cunt.”

“Josephine!” Mistoffelees choked on a shocked breath. A moment later, it turned into laughter. Something ached just below his ribs, a sensation that alarmed him until he realized it was the ache of a muscle he hadn’t used in ages, having had no reason to laugh at all in far too long. He ended his small fit of hysterics with a small snort, and while Josephine was looking at him like he’d lost his mind, she was laughing too.

“Have you gone mad?”

“Oh, a long time ago.” Mistoffelees huffed a final laugh, wiping tears on the back of his paw. He needed that. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Well, that’s the essence of it.” There was more, that much was clear. Josephine cleared her throat, all prim and proper, staring at the distant crowd of half-slumbering Jellicles.

Some conversations were just like that, difficult to have while looking someone in the eye. Mistoffelees gave her the time she needed.

“I was mad at you, you know. So mad at you for… well.” She still didn’t meet his eye, but he could see the way her chin swiveled towards his belly. “I thought you were weak. I thought…”

Josephine paused. Mistoffelees didn’t respond, mostly because he agreed with her, until he realized her shoulders were shaking. She was crying. Josephine was crying. She hadn’t done that since she was a kitten. “I saw him kill Jezebel,” she said. “Not him, himself, but he told them to do it, those two awful… cats of his. And I didn’t stop them. I didn’t even try, I was scared, and Macavity was so big…”

Oh bloody hell. Josephine had been avoiding him, and Mistoffelees’ thoughts had been consumed with Mandra, but he knew how much she’d suffered too during this entire incident. She’d been there when Macavity broke into the junkyard, started the fire, took her sister, and killed Jezebel. She’d seen the whole thing happen, and crammed the trauma behind her usual icy exterior.

Mistoffelees threw his arms around her, his heart swelling with the fierce instinct to protect his kitten. She let him, snuggling into his chest while she cried. “Sweetheart, no. You didn’t do anything wrong. Shh, it’s okay, you did your best… you don’t have to hold it in anymore…”

He kept cooing comforting nonsense at her while she buried her face in his fur. The tears stopped after a few minutes, but she didn’t pull away. Mistoffelees held her, hoping she would never pull away. At least he could comfort one of his kittens.

“I’m sorry I thought you were weak,” Josephine murmured against his shoulder. “I was so mad at you. But I was mad at myself, really. I didn’t even try to stop him.”

“It’s damn good you didn’t! You wouldn’t be here if you’d tried to fight him.”

Maybe she’d be locked up in that basement with Mandra. Maybe she’d have ended up like Jezebel. Those two vicious white cats of Macavity’s didn’t seem like the type to care if they were slashing old queens or young kittens.

He shuddered. He couldn’t let that image creep into his head.

Josephine sighed, composing herself, and pulled away while wiping at her eyes, mustering up as much dignity as she could. “You beat him once. That’s what everyone was saying. That right before we were all born, you managed to fight him and escape.”

Mistoffelees shut his eyes against the guilt, hot and creeping. “And if I did it once, I should be able to do it again. I know. He’s stronger than me, kit. And if it was just about me, I’d let him tear me apart without helping him. But…”

“But Mandra. I know, dad. It’s okay. You’re doing your best.”

“Do you think your dad agrees with that?”

She rolled her eyes, all drama, and Mistoffelees almost laughed until the words came out of her mouth. “I don’t know if he agrees, but with all the crying he’s been doing about being away from you…”

The guilt came back, squeezing Mistoffelees’ chest. “Crying. About me?”

Josephine shrugged. “He says no. But you know him, he’s a terrible liar. He loves you. He’d have fucked Macavity himself to keep you safe, the big idiot.”

“Watch your language.”

“Absolutely not.”

Up in the sky, a cloud unfurled across the Jellicle Moon, breaking the trance and causing the slumbering cats to stir and stretch. Mistoffelees mourned the loss of this little moment of peace, turning to Josephine who now looked as prim and pristine as always. Completely and utterly Tugger’s daughter. He smiled. “Listen, kitten. I know we’ve never exactly been best friends, but I love you. You have so much talent and you are so brave. I will bring your sister back to you, I promise. And look, we can finally agree on one thing: Macavity is a cunt.”

Josephine smiled—an actual, rare smile. It suited her. “Language.”

“Absolutely not.”

Mistoffelees settled on the oven, stretching and popping a few joints. He breathed a rare sigh of gratitude for the kittens, for being willing to stay still while he talked with his daughter. He fluffed up her mane, even though it didn’t need fluffing, and made sure her cheeks were dry of tears.

“You know you can talk to me any time, right? About how you’re feeling.”

“Thanks, dad. And uh… ugh, I’m not good with.... This feelings business.”

“You can say plenty without words. I’ll make you a deal. Roll your eyes at me, and I’ll take it to mean ‘I love you dad, you’re just the absolute best.’”

Josephine grinned and followed through, even kicking her head back a little as she rolled her eyes. “Anyway. I’m going back to the ball. Make sure someone can see you at all times.”

“Enjoy the dance, kitten.”

He wished he could join her, and join Tugger, and melt into his arms and apologize for making him cry, but. Well. Instead, he rolled his spine again, trying to crack the ache out, legs falling apart to relieve some of the strain in his hips. As he watched, the Ball resumed, with a choreography that very coincidentally brought him right into Munkustrap’s line of sight. Mistoffelees waved and watched the dancing.

And above, the clouds danced across the Jellicle Moon.

***

The Ball ended, as expected, with Gus ascending to the Heaviside Layer.

The air fluttered with relief, sadness, and—as with every Ball—a sense of healing and renewal. It was nice.

Mistoffelees wished he could share the sentiment. Right now, all he felt was bloated, sore, and very, very tired. Amazing how exhausting it could be to sit on one’s arse all night.

While he began to ponder the logistics of getting up, quiet footsteps approached. After being not-so-surreptitiously watched all night, Mistoffelees was not exactly keen on extra company right now, unless it was Tugger, but he was still relieved to see it was Demeter and not anyone chattier.

Mistoffelees squirmed as Demeter dropped to a crouch next to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Completely and utterly done,” Mistoffelees huffed with a weak smile. “And ready to sleep for a year. If you give me a good kick, I could probably roll all the way back to my den.”

“Let’s try walking first, shall we?”

Under protest, Mistoffelees rolled to all fours, and accepted Demeter’s help in standing up. He took a moment to stretch the ache out of his hips and the stiffness from his back, sliding his paws beneath his belly as the kittens finally woke up and tumbled and kicked inside.

“Enough,” he muttered. “Let me lie down, then you can beat the life out of me.”

Demeter walked him back to his den, a quiet and comforting presence at his side. She understood his need for silence right now, nodding encouragingly as she held the door to his den. Mistoffelees collapsed on the blankets, too tired and too sore to do much more than moan in relief at being off his feet. He wasn’t exactly being a good host to Demeter right now, but she’d seen him in worse conditions. She even helped to fluff up a cushion for him.

“Tourmaline said she would come by and stay with you until Tugger could come back. He’s going to see Augusta and Electra off to their den.”

Mistoffelees chuckled tiredly. “Shouldn’t take him long, I doubt they’re going to want him to stay.”

“Do you want me to say with you until Tourmaline gets here?”

Mistoffelees reached for her, squeezing her paw. “No, no. I’ll survive for a few minutes. Go get some rest, you must be exhausted too.”

“I’ll check in on you first thing in the evening.” Demeter nuzzled him tenderly and left him to rest.

Sighing, he shifted on aching arms, trying to find some way to let the blankets conform to his body. The whole ordeal wasn’t exactly helped by the way the kittens tumbled with unusual violence, throwing him off-balance.

“Bloody hell, is one good nap just too much to ask for…?”

He shifted again, wishing for an extra pillow for his hips and wondering if it was worth conjuring one up, when the movement made something give deep inside his belly. Mistoffelees froze. He knew, before his mind caught up, what that twinge meant. He squeezed his thighs together as though it would stop the sudden gush of fluid.

Oh no.

No no no.

NO!

He’d wanted this. All week long, he’d been praying for this moment. He’d dreamed of feeling contractions, of having his waters finally break, of starting the process of labour so he could end it all. But now that it was finally, finally starting…

He sat up, with surprising speed and strength given the situation. Spread his thighs apart, only able to see the slow trickle of amniotic fluid once the puddle spread on the blankets so he could see it past his belly. Not pain yet, but Jenny had reminded him that contractions could take a while to ramp up after the waters break. Or that, on the flipside, waters could break several hours after the contractions start.

But one thing she’d made clear: once the waters break, there is no going back. This was real. Macavity’s kittens were real and ready to come out and it was going to hurt and he was going to see what they looked like and—

And he was going to have to dry them off, bundle them up, and hobble over to Elmsmere Way to leave them in Macavity’s arms and then turn back, never to see or think of these kittens again—

Mistoffelees’ breaths had grown so loud and harsh that he didn’t even hear the opening of the den door, the approach of Tourmaline, until she stood right at the edge of the blankets.

“Dad? Dad, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a pollicle!”

He scrambled for a blanket, managed to gather enough fabric to cover himself. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Uh… is everything okay? Dad?” Tourmaline was known for her calm, but Mistoffelees could see the alarm in her eyes. He managed to get his breathing under control. He couldn’t cause one of his kits to panic. It wasn’t right. “It’s okay. You can go. It’s fine.” Tourmaline was quiet for a moment, before catching on to his distress. Someone else might have pestered him, grabbed him by the shoulders, demanded to hear what was wrong. Her gaze didn’t waver. “Should I get someone else? Do you want me to get dad?”

Mistoffelees managed a frantic shake of his head. “No. Get… get Munk.”

If she had any interest in the job, Tourmaline’s nerves of steel would have made her an excellent protector. She quickly scrambled out of the den, leaving Mistoffelees to reflect on the fact that he was sitting on a growing wet patch, feeling shaky and vaguely queasy.

He managed to keep any other thoughts at bay until he heard a rustle at the front of the den and Munkustrap crawled in. His nerves didn’t look quite as steely as Tourmaline’s, but Mistoffelees was grateful for his presence.

“Mistoffelees? What is it?”

Shaking, Mistoffelees pulled the blanket away from his lap, letting the wet spot speak for itself. He’d been primed on how labour would work but Mistoffelees was still scared he’d have to use words. And if he had to open his mouth, then panic would come out and there would be no coming back from that.

It took a moment, but Munkustrap caught on. Mistoffelees saw the brief fear in his eyes before he drew in a breath and became the protector Mistoffelees sorely needed right now. “Okay. Okay. Have your pains started yet?”

Mistoffelees shook his head, the movement erratic, the tremble seizing his entire body. He opened his mouth and it was his undoing, as panicked words spilled out before he could swallow them. “I can’t do this. Munk, I can’t do this! I know I said I would do this but I don’t want to anymore! They’re not my kittens, I can’t do this…!”

Munkustrap grabbed his paws and squeezed. It was a gentle grounding, and he avoided platitudes like ‘of course you can do this’, for which Mistoffelees was grateful. They sat, squeezing paws, gulping in air until Mistoffelees’ breathing returned to something passably steady.

“Okay,” Munkustrap gently murmured. He held Mistoffelees’ paw in one hand and used the other to pull the blanket entirely off him. “I’m going to stand up. Then I’m going to help you stand up. We’ll take it nice and slow and head over to Jenny’s. Okay? One step at a time. Don’t think about what’s going to happen. Let’s just get to Jenny’s.”

Mistoffelees said nothing, letting Munkustrap get to his feet, finding calm in the mundane steps of throwing his arms around Munkustrap’s neck and letting him do most of the work, hoisting his rather impressive girth until he was on his feet. No less shaky, but upright at least.

Now Munkustrap took a moment to cup his cheeks and nuzzle his face. “You did it, you’re up. Now, let’s go to Jenny’s.”

Mistoffelees said nothing again, legs shaking fiercely and leaning on Munkustrap as they walked out of the den into the pale morning light, trying very hard not to think of what was about to come.

Chapter Text

“Did you manage to get any sleep at all?”

Mistoffelees sighed. His paws slid low on his belly, and he could swear he was feeling the beginnings of a contraction, but it was difficult to tell between his regular aches and the relentless anxiety. The slow, steady walk to Jenny’s den with Munkustrap at his side had helped him get control of his panic, at least momentarily. “Not really. I barely had time to sit down before… well.”

Jenny, busy tossing pillows and blankets into a pile, hummed at his answer. Mistoffelees suspected she hadn’t had any rest since the Ball either, but the moment he and Munkustrap had turned up at her den, whatever weariness she may have felt was now replaced with fussy energy. She’d ascertained that his waters had indeed broken, ushered him in, put the kettle on, and was now gathering pillows into a little nest. Mistoffelees could swear she had a bounce in her step as she worked.

Munkustrap, for his part, was clearly desperate for something to do. He’d attempted to help Jenny with the nest, gotten smacked with a pillow for his troubles, and now stood at Mistoffelees’ side. They’d prepared him for what to do once labour really got going; for the moment, things were calm, leaving them with a very restless tabby.

“Right,” Jenny chirped, fluffing a green pillow and setting it on the pile. “Come lie down. I want to have a quick look at you, and then if you can manage a quick nap, all the better.”

With Munkustrap’s very eager assistance, Mistoffelees managed a semi-controlled flop to the blankets, wiggling around until he was lying on his side. Jenny crawled to him, ruffling his head fur with a kind smile before laying her paws on his belly, pressing and cupping and feeling for things that were probably very important, and that Mistoffelees tried not to focus on. His eyes swept over the den while Jenny prodded. “Is Skimble here?”

Jenny tittered. “He was already asleep when you got here. If I need him, I’ll wake him up… but I don’t want him stealing my thunder again! So he can snore away for as long as he please.”

Mistoffelees cracked a weak smile. According to rumour, she’d never quite gotten over the fact that Skimble was the lucky one to help deliver all seven kittens from his first litter. He felt slightly better knowing he was surrounded by people who knew what they were doing, but only just.

“Excellent,” she nodded after a few moments of pawing at him. “Both kittens are in position, and one is already quite low. I can feel some tightness too. Have you started feeling the pains?”

“Um… I-I’m honestly not sure. I think so? If so, the pain isn’t very strong yet.”

The memories of his previous labour weren’t much help. He’d been asleep when it started, and woke up to the contractions already stealing his breath, with no idea of how long it had all started.

Jenny hummed again, pointing at Munkustrap and then to an old cuckoo clock wedged in a corner of her den. “Munk. You’re looking for something to do? Once Misto tells you he feels a pain, look at the clock and keep track of the time until the next one. Can you handle that?”

Munkustrap nodded with all the determination of one who’d been asked to guard the Queen of England with their life. “Absolutely.”

“Take it easy before you sprain something, Munk,” Mistoffelees huffed, with little energy but some trace of humour.

Jenny scrambled to her feet as the kettle began to shriek, wrapping a cloth around her paw before pulling it from the heat. “For now, I would like you to try to sleep.”

“Yeah, I’ll try.” Despite the adrenaline, Mistoffelees did feel quite tired. Ever so helpful, Munkustrap pulled a blanket on top of him while he tried to settle. “Thank you.”

“It’s not too late,” Munkustrap said, keeping his voice low. “If you want me to ask him to come here.”

Him. Tugger. Mistoffelees craved his scent and the feel of his arms, but… “No. No, it’s okay. I’d rather have you here.”

“I should at least let him know what’s going on. He’ll wonder where you are.”

Mistoffelees picked at the blanket covering his belly. Out of sight, out of mind. “He’ll find out soon enough. Word spreads. Everyone will know within the hour.”

His eyes drifted shut and between his exhaustion and the soft noises of Jenny tending to some teacups nearby, he fell asleep.

***

“I’m just… proud! So proud!”

“Dad, please.”

That got a chuckle out of Electra, and Tugger grinned over the top of Augusta’s head to give his new daughter-in-law a grin. “See? Electra’s proud too! Aah, both of you did so great tonight. Such a lovely dance!”

Tugger was practically skipping, his arm laced around his daughter’s. Electra had a hold of Augusta’s other arm as the three walked in the rays of the rising sun back to Augusta and Electra’s den.

Augusta looked as though she could facepalm, if only her hands had been free. “That’s weird. Don’t compliment your daughter’s mating dance.”

“All I’m saying is, you’re both so grown up now,” Tugger happily sighed. Between seeing his kits performing, doing magic, and becoming mated, he hadn’t felt this airy in ages. It was almost enough to help him forget his troubles, and take his mind off the kit that was still missing from their family. “Seems like only yesterday, you were tiny and fuzzy and screaming instead of napping. Time flies.”

“You’d better not be hinting for grandkits,” Augusta said.

Tugger shrugged, arm still firmly entrenched with his daughter’s. “I wouldn’t exactly be heartbroken about it.”

“We’ll see,” Electra said diplomatically. “I already said, I’m not going to be the one to carry them!”

“I’m not exactly keen on it either. Anyway--” Augusta squirmed her arms free from both her captors, putting a pointed claw in the centre of her father’s chest. “Let’s wait until things are calmer before thinking of that, okay? I don’t want any more events to happen without… well.”

Without Mandra around. Yes. Of course. Tugger’s ears, and mood, drooped. “I know, kit. I’m just teasing you. Kittens are a huge step, you need to think about it first.”

Electra delicately cleared her throat, quirking a mischievous eyebrow. “To be fair… you and Misto didn’t really think. Or plan.”

“Listen,” Tugger stuck his paws on his hips. “When you’re as handsome as I am, you don’t need to plan anything. And furthermore--”

“Dad--!”

Tugger whirled around. The grin he’d been sporting—a very rare grin these days—faded into worry as he saw Tourmaline coming to a quick stop next to the trio. It wasn’t the sight of Tourmaline that made Tugger worry: it was the sight of Tourmaline looking out of breath and unsettled.

Augusta picked up on her sister’s distress too. “Oh no. What’s going on?”

Tourmaline looked from her, to Electra, to Tugger. “It’s Dad. It’s… well, I think it’s time.”

“You think?” Tugger’s legs went wobbly. And to think he’d dared to enjoy a moment of peace and fun. He grabbed his daughter’s shoulders, needing the anchor. “You think or you know?”

“Something was definitely happening when I got to the den and he asked me to get Uncle Munk. So yes, I’d say I know.”

Tugger’s head went fuzzy. He hadn’t really bothered to picture how and when Mistoffelees’ labour would start. He felt woefully unprepared, even though there wasn’t anything for him to do. Mistoffelees had made it exceedingly clear that Munkustrap would be in the room, not him.

“Okay.” Tugger forced a breath out. His lungs felt constricted, frozen. He gave Electra, Augusta, and Tourmaline a look that was meant to be comforting, but Everlasting Cat knows if he managed to school his face into a reasonable expression. “Okay. I’m going to… to keep an eye on things. All of you, don’t worry about a thing. Okay?”

He didn’t wait for a reply, hurrying out into the warm spring morning. The yard was quiet. His first thought was to rush back to the den, but no. If it was time, and Munkustrap was there to take charge, then they’d already be heading to Jenny’s den. They were probably there already.

So that’s where Tugger headed too. He found a perch, out of the way but still within sight, and sat, and watched Jenny’s den. And waited.

***

Mistoffelees woke up with a quick startle. Okay, there was definitely tightness in his belly now, though whether it was starting or ending was something his sleep-fuzzy brain couldn’t quite put together. His eyes flew open to reveal Munkustrap, sitting stock-still next to the blankets nest with a tea cup in his hands. The moment Mistoffelees shifted under the blanket, rubbing his belly as though he could massage the pain away, Munkustrap snapped to attention.

“Misto! How are you feeling?”

Mistoffelees exhaled slowly—he remembered that from last time, the breathing—as his belly slowly unclenched. Okay fine, that counted. “Check the clock.”

“Check the—oh!” Munkustrap spun his whole body around to look at the cuckoo clock, nodding when it was clear he’d logged the time. Knowing him, he would probably be able to give a timeframe to the closest second as soon as Mistoffelees announced the next contraction.

“How long have I been dead to the world?” Mistoffelees groaned, rolling this way and that and trying to find enough leverage to sit up. He managed it, eventually, with Munkustrap’s help, who proceeded to hand him the cup he’d been holding. It wasn’t tea, as Mistoffelees had assumed, but water. Munkustrap had been holding water ready for him all this time? He didn’t deserve all this.

“About three hours. Jellylorum got here about ten minutes ago. She’s speaking outside with Jenny, they didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Jelly’s here?” Mistoffelees sighed miserably into his water cup. “She shouldn’t be here. She had enough to deal with tonight without adding my drama to it.”

Munkustrap made a humming sound, fussing with the blankets. “Honestly? She seemed happy to be here. She said she could use a distraction, and this certainly counts.”

“I am very distracting, it’s true.” Mistoffelees managed a weak chuckle. He handed the cup back to Munkustrap, eager to hide the tremble in his paws.

The door to the den made a quiet creak inward, and Jenny’s head poked in.

Mistoffelees waved before stuffing his paws back under the blankets. He felt cold. Was that normal? Or just nerves, coupled with exhaustion? “I’m awake, you can be noisy.”

“Ah!” Jenny barged into the den, heading right for the kettle, and put it over the fire again. Jellylorum was close behind, smiling gently, cupping a small bowl between her paws. “Good to see you up, sweet dear! Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m really not. Thank you.”

“No worries, we’ll try in a bit,” Jenny said. “You might want to know, Tugger’s outside. So to speak. He’s found himself a hiding spot and he’s quite confident we haven’t spotted him. He’s been there a while already.”

Mistoffelees groaned. “Of course he is. Oh hell, he won’t leave until it’s all over, will he?”

“I’d be happy to chase him away with a bucket of water, just say the word,” Jelly said with a perfectly innocent smirk.

Mistoffelees wanted to laugh, wanted to take her up on the offer, if only in jest. Instead, he huffed as a tightness in his belly grew into an unmistakable pain, stealing his breath for a moment. He managed to croak out “Clock!”, which made Munkustrap’s expression snap from concerned to determined.

Jenny, too, caught on immediately. She kept quiet until Mistoffelees relaxed, unfurling his arms over the blankets. “Munk, how long since the last one?”

“Four minutes and ten seconds.”

Was that good? Mistoffelees had no idea. Last time, he and Demeter hadn’t counted contractions or done anything he probably should have done. He just knew it hurt, and since he’d probably snored through a few contractions already, he hadn’t had the chance to become used to them again.

Jenny seemed to think it was good. She and Jelly exchanged a bright smile. “That’s excellent! Things are progressing quickly. Now, time to get up!”

“I… I’m sorry?” Mistoffelees stammered. “Why do I need to…?”

“Things move along a lot faster if you move around, trust me. Munk, be a dear and help him up? A bit of walking around is great for labour.”

Well, whatever made this nightmare end faster was fine by him. While Mistoffelees mourned his warm nest of blankets, assisted by Munkustrap as he negotiated against gravity and rose to his feet, Jelly made a tutting sound as she rescued the kettle from the heat. How much tea were they going to make?

“Remember when I had Tumblebrutus? My goodness, I couldn’t have stopped moving even if I wanted to! I was crawling around by the end of it!”

“Oh, I remember!” Jenny chuckled. “Sweet Victoria was the same way with her first little ones, couldn’t stay still. She would have danced if I’d have let her!”

Mistoffelees would have been quite content to never walk, crawl, or dance again. Well, if Munkustrap was here, he was going to make use of him, holding on to his shoulders as they began a shuffling walk around the den. Such grace, such elegance.

“This had better speed things up tremendously.” Mistoffelees wrinkled his nose as their circuit of the den brought him right by the table where Jenny and Jelly were working. Jelly dumped the contents of her little bowl into a cup, and as Jenny poured hot water into the cup, Mistoffelees could see they were herbs. In fact, there was a collection of cups there, each with a distinct style and pattern, each containing a tea of some sort. None of them smelled like tea, and most of them smelled like rotten leaves and pollicle breath.

“I’m not going to have to drink those, am I?”

“If all goes well, you won’t,” Jelly said, giving the cup a quick little stir. “These are just medicines, to be ready in case anything happens.”

Mistoffelees’ head shot up past Munkustrap’s shoulder as their walk began to lead them away from the table, away from the pungent scents. “Anything? What do you mean, anything?”

There was a pause before Jelly spoke. “In case you feel sick or need help with the pain. But don’t worry about that, Jenny and I have everything under control.”

Mistoffelees didn’t like that little pause, not to mention the unspoken possibilities. But if he’d managed without teas and brews last time, then he would be fine again.

Any further reflection on the topic of smelly teas was thoroughly quelled by the start of another contraction. There was no need to announce it to Munkustrap, aside from the groan he directed right into the grey chest in front of him. He felt Munkustrap’s paws holding him up, and didn’t realize he’d sunk his claws into Munkustrap’s shoulders until Jenny grabbed his paws to loosen them.

“Relax,” she said, gently but sternly. “The more you fight it, the more it will hurt. You need to breathe slowly and relax.”

His groan turned into a snarl (luckily, still masked by tabby-grey fur) but he tried to follow her advice until the contraction was over, loosening his claws and trying to relax his muscles. Maybe it helped, maybe it didn’t. He could only pant, wincing as one of the kittens kicked him in the ribs, adding insult to injury.

“You’re doing great,” Munkustrap helpfully supplied, patting his back.

Good thing Mistoffelees’ face was still buried in grey fur, allowing him to hide his look of pure venom.

***

“I’m hurt, Jenny! Were you going to let me sleep through this whole thing??”

Skimble was awake, and absolutely incandescent over the fact that Jenny hadn’t roused him to help with the current situation. The very picture of innocence, Jenny primly arranged some shortbread cookies on a plate, smiling sweetly. “There was no need to interrupt your beauty sleep, love. I’ve got things quite under control here.”

Jenny cocked her head towards Mistoffelees and Munkustrap. The pair had stopped walking and while Munkustrap now sat at attention on the edge of the bed, Mistoffelees decided that his new favourite position was kneeling by the bed, face firmly mashed against his folded arms. The position took some weight off his back and hips and he’d taken to wiggling his arse through each contraction. It was undignified for sure, and luckily he’d stopped caring about his audience an hour ago.

He’d stopped caring about the clock, too, letting Munkustrap deal with timing things. Mistoffelees was content to moan, pant, hiss, scratch the blankets, scratch Munkustrap’s arm if it was within reach, and mutter bitter curses into the mussed fur of his arms.

He ached. Oh everlasting, everything ached. His spine felt like fire and every joint seemed ready to pop loose. His head and stomach were heavy, and even after the contractions ended, his belly still felt cramped and tight.

He sensed movement by the bed. A peek up from his folded arms revealed Skimble, smiling on the other side of the bed, offering the plate of shortbread cookies.

“Glad to see you’re in good hands, lad. You’re handling this quite well. Would you like something to eat?”

It must have been hours since he’d last eaten. By all means, he should have been starving, but the sweet buttery smell made his stomach turn, a small gag working its way up his throat. He was quite fortunate that Skimble noticed right away, whisking the plate away with a gentle, “Sorry, sorry. Water, maybe?”

Mistoffelees couldn’t even tell if he was thirsty anymore. The smell of butter seemed to linger, even through the rise and fall of his next contraction. It was becoming impossible to relax, almost impossible to breathe through the pain, though he did his best to force air in and out while a guttural moan erupted from his throat. He felt Munkustrap’s paw slide against his and he took the comfort without hesitating, squeezing hard, grateful for something warm and alive to grasp instead of the blankets.

“You can make more noise,” Munkustrap said, still holding his paw. Mistoffelees never wanted to let go. “If it helps with the pain. You know we don’t mind.”

Mistoffelees nodded shakily. He hadn’t missed the fact that everyone in the room went silent every time he worked his way through a contraction, either to give him a break from annoying noises or to give him all their attention. Both, probably. He appreciated the lack of noise but the attention was making his eyes well up, though that could have been due to the rising nausea.

Yes… yes, definitely the nausea. Mistoffelees gagged again, slapping a paw over his mouth, and again there was a blur of fur in his line of sight. Jenny handed him a cup of tea, holding a basin in her other hand.

“If the tea doesn’t help, then I’ve got this,” she said, indicating the basin.

Through sheer force of will, Mistoffelees managed not to throw up. Everlasting Cat knows he’d done enough of that in the early days of his pregnancy. He took the cup with shaking paws, only spilling a few drops to the blankets before he managed to guide it to his mouth. The tea was still warm and tasted like ginger and catnip, settling his stomach after a few sips.

“It’s good, thank you,” he panted, grateful he wouldn’t have to stare into the bottom of a bucket again. Gratitude was short-lived: he shoved the cup at Munkustrap as the next contraction started to build, slamming his paws into the bedding. “Ugh…”

The basin abandoned, Jenny circled the bed to take the cup from Munkustrap, rubbing Mistoffelees’ back with her free paw. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Relax your body…”

“I can’t relax when it bloody hurts!” Mistoffelees yelled, slamming his paws into the blankets again. He was so tired, so done with the unrelenting pain, the ache that suffused his body and heart, he was so tired of waiting for this to be over, he was so angry he even had to deal with this in the first place….

“Misto! Stop!”

Jenny’s shriek cut through his haze of pain. There was smoke, and as he panted and coughed, Mistoffelees saw the source: his paws, clenched in the bedding, flames retreating back into nothingness.

He pulled his paws from the blanket, staring at the smoking holes. Everlasting, had he been about to burn the whole place down??

“J-jenny… I’m sorry…”

“Well, no harm done, that was an old blanket anyway.” Jenny giggled nervously, pulling the burnt blanket from the pile and shoving it into Skimble’s arms. “I… hm. I didn’t know you could make fire.”

“It’s new,” Mistoffelees sighed. Maybe breathing was a good idea. He flexed his paws until he was sure there would be no more surprise magic and struggled to rise on shaking legs. Munkustrap immediately took hold of him to help.

He gave Munkustrap a weak laugh. “You… you probably don’t want to hold my paw anymore.”

“I trust you,” Munkustrap said, immediately squeezing one of his paws. “Besides… a little scratch, a little burn… what’s the difference, as long as it helps you through this.”

He didn’t deserve Munkustrap. Together they moved until Mistoffelees could sit heavily on the edge of the bed, cradling his belly. It felt so tight and sore. Hell, everything ached. His eyes were already gritty with exhaustion. “When this is over, I’m going to sleep for a month.”

“Just a few more hours,” Jelly said, helpfully.

A few more hours. And then… he would not be cuddling new kittens. No, he would somehow have to find the strength to bundle them up and bring them to Elmsmere Way, and gather Mandra in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right, that he was so sorry, and then Macavity would trot back into that damned house with his brand new kittens.

What was that exchange going to look like? Was he going to pass them both over to Macavity’s arms, or would Sedna be the one to take them and coo over them? While Mandra waltzed out of the front door? Was it really going to be that simple?

As if anything about this was simple. He was relying on Macavity to keep his word. But even if he did, the best case scenario involved handing over these two innocent kittens. Who would name them? Give them their first milk? Would he run into them again, in a few years, running Macavity’s empire? Would he recognize them? Would they recognize him?

He’d spent so much time detaching himself from these kits but now… now that the end was so close…

He couldn’t help it. When the next contraction started, he had no energy to focus, or breathe, or do anything but hiccup and sob his way through it. He felt lightheaded, listing sideways off the bed, and was suddenly enveloped by warmth and sturdy grey fur. Munkustrap held him, letting him bury his face into the safe haven of his chest, staying there when the pain eased.

When he finally pulled his face away from the damp spot he’d left in Munkustrap’s chest, it took a moment for him to notice that Jenny, Jelly, and Skimble had left the room.

“I sort of… shooed them out,” Munkustrap sheepishly said when he noticed Mistoffelees looking around. He pulled a cloth and a cup of water from a nearby table, dabbing at Mistoffelees’ eyes and handing him the cup. “I figured you could use some privacy.”

He definitely didn’t deserve Munkustrap and his kindness. Even if he had no idea about the reason behind his little breakdown. Mistoffelees managed a shaky smile and took a sip of water. “I just… these kittens, I just…”

“It’s okay,” Munkustrap soothed. He pressed a paw, gentle and flat, to Mistoffelees’ back, and rubbed warm soothing circles. It actually got a purr out of him. “One step at a time, remember?”

Mistoffelees nodded. He drained the cup, not a moment too soon as he fumbled with it and dropped it to the bed as another contraction started, wrenching the breath from his lungs. Steady as ever, Munkustrap held him through it, even as Mistoffelees’ stuttered pants turned into full-throated groans.

Mistoffelees directed a long moan of despair directly into Munkustrap’s chest as the pain ebbed. One step at a time. One contraction at a time. He’d managed not to set Munkustrap on fire, so that was a small win.

***

Maybe second litters were supposed to come faster, but it bloody well didn’t feel like this was going by quickly. Intellectually, Mistoffelees could gauge the passage of time—seven hours since he’d broken his waters, including the nap he’d managed to take—and with contractions getting closer and closer together, it was almost over. But Everlasting, it felt like he’d spent days here already, walking around and now sitting down in a daze, screaming and sobbing against Munkustrap’s poor abused chest.

He was grateful beyond words for Munkustrap. Having a pillar of grey stability was truly helping him stay grounded at the moment. He appreciated the fact that Munkustrap was hiding his own anxiety over everything—he never said a word that wasn’t soothing or offered a touch that wasn’t soothing, but whenever Mistoffelees stuffed his face in the striped chest to muffle his groans of pain, he could hear Munkustrap’s heart hammering away.

He was curled up on the nest of blankets now, squirming and groaning his way through the pain. He didn’t have more than a few seconds to try and catch his breath between contractions, and if his mind hadn’t been in such a haze of pain and exhaustion, he would have felt gratitude for the fact that this signified the end was near.

He’d been waylaid by a leg cramp earlier, and now Munkustrap was dutifully massaging it, pausing only to offer silent support whenever a guttural cry announced the next contraction. Jenny and Jelly sat nearby, chatting quietly, ready to jump in. He hadn’t heard Skimble’s voice in a while. Maybe he’d been shooed out for good. Mistoffelees couldn’t tell anymore.

It felt like he had so much time left to go, and yet also not enough. And suddenly, Mistoffelees felt the very familiar sensation of needing to push, and he would have given anything for more time.

His moans turned into grunts of effort, pushing through the contraction until it ended. He relaxed with a tired, shuddering breath, blindly reaching for Munkustrap until he stopped massaging and clasped his paw.

“Are you all right?”

“I… I have to push,” Mistoffelees groaned quietly.

Munkustrap answered with a dutiful nod and a reassuring squeeze of his paw. “Jenny? Jelly?”

The two queens dropped everything and bustled over. Mistoffelees panted into the pillow before pulling his face out of it, still squeezing Munkustrap’s paw. “They’re ready. Need to… need to push.”

Jenny was on him, feeling at his lower belly and making a cheerful sound of approval before she caught herself. “They’re definitely ready. The first kitten’s already quite low. Do you want to change position for this?”

Hazy and tired, Mistoffelees considered his options. Kneeling had been the most productive position last time, but right now he felt the start of a burning ache between his legs and the bed was too inviting. “Like this. Lying down.”

“Right, then,” Jenny said. She nodded to Jelly who calmly directed Munkustrap to circle the bed, while Jenny took a small pillow in her hands. Gently, she helped Mistoffelees uncurl, re-arranged him on his side, and slipped the pillow beneath him to support his belly.

Mistoffelees let them work, let them manipulate him, too tired to resist. Jelly took his top leg, bending it until his knee touched the side of his chest. He resisted the motion a little, not entirely thrilled with the idea of being so wide-open when he already felt so vulnerable, before exhaustion won out.

“Hold him like this,” he heard Jelly said, and a moment later a warm, strong hand took hold of his leg, and he realized Munkustrap had been directed to hold him in this position for the birth. His nethers were about to be the focus of the next event anyway, what did it matter if he was all spread-open.

He heard tinkering in the den, the soft clink of cups, the rustle of fabric. Jenny patted his leg, murmuring a kind, “When you’re ready, breathe deep and--”

The noises faded as Mistoffelees’ entire world centered on the contraction. It was more pressure than pain now, and he drew in a breath, holding it until his chest felt like bursting, and bore down.

Breathe in. Again. Push. Breathe out. He let Munkustrap take the weight of his leg, let him follow the movements of Mistoffelees’ body as he twisted this way and that, pushing against the excruciating pressure between his legs.

He wanted Tugger here. More than anything. He didn’t put words to the thought, but he would have given anything for Tugger to burst through that door and hold him right now and encourage him and make him laugh with his patented Tugger nonsense.

“Come on, Misto dear,” Jenny sternly said. “It’s coming. Keep pushing… keep pushing…”

It wasn’t as though he had a choice. It was impossible to resist pushing, even as the burning ache between his legs turned into something harsh and sharp. Jenny kept urging him to push, her paws working between his legs, touching him and spreading him. There came an intense flare of pain, like he was being split in two, and he screamed a high, shrill scream as the pressure suddenly stopped.

“Oh, it’s out! Oh, here we go… here we go, it’s all right….” A brush of fabric, like a small blanket, tickled the fur of his inner thighs and Jenny cooed and someone cut the cord and Mistoffelees did his best to block her out, mashing his face into the pillow to avoid seeing what had just slipped free of his body.

It mewled loudly for a few moments. Faintly, he heard Jelly whisper, “It’s a tom.” It wasn’t directed at him, but he heard it anyway, and all he wanted to do was scratch at his ears or scream again to block out the sound. He didn’t want to know. He couldn’t know.

There would be a few minutes’ reprieve between kittens, he knew. Still panting hard, he weakly pushed at Munkustrap’s paw, asking for his leg to be released. Now that he wasn’t focused on pushing anymore, the ache in his thigh and hip could register.

“You did it,” Munkustrap said, steadying the leg as he lowered it back to the blankets. “You’re almost done. One more and you’re done.”

Mistoffelees moaned in acknowledgement. Lowering his leg made him hiss in pain, and it took his foggy brain a few moments to pinpoint the source of the pain.

He must have hissed louder than he thought. It caught Jenny’s attention, who flitted to his side in a moment. “How are you feeling, love?”

“Ugh… it really hurts.”

“Here?” She placed a gentle hand on his belly.

Panting, Mistoffelees shook his head. “Down there.”

“Oh… you tore a little when the kitten came out, that’s all.” Jenny gave him a small, sympathetic smile, but there was a tightness to her expression that made him wonder if it was really just ‘a little’. “We’ll stitch you up as soon as the second kitten is out. Just hang on a little while longer.”

Fifteen minutes later, he was indeed hanging on… to Munkustrap’s shoulders. When the urge to push returned, he was too exhausted to push against gravity and almost too numb to properly feel the contractions, so Jenny had him kneel on the bed, holding on to Munkustrap for support.

“Push, Misto. Again.”

It seemed to be working, but all he could do was moan in protest and try his best to push. Faintly he registered a sharp, vivid pain in his belly with every push, but he was too far gone to care.

Jenny’s fingers probed between his legs, bothering the sting of the tear. After what felt like an eternity, she exclaimed, “Yes! Here we go, I feel the head. A bit more effort and you’re done.”

He directed a wailing moan into Munkustrap’s collarbone, trembling with effort until it felt like his entire body weight was dangling from Munkustrap’s neck. The sharp pain, concentrated right in the middle of his belly, almost distracted him from pushing, until he reasoned it would probably go away once the kitten was out.

He pushed. Drew in a breath, held it, pushed again, released it in a shuddering moan. Again. Again.

And then it slid free of his body.

“Here we are! Oh, all done, well done, here we go!”

Dimly, Mistoffelees noted that the kitten’s passage out his body didn’t hurt nearly as much as the first one. Oh, but he’d torn himself open, right? Plenty of room for the second one to just tumble out. The thought made him giggle, a bit delirious, his head fizzing.

“It’s over,” Munkustrap murmured. Everlasting Cat bless him, he was still letting Mistoffelees hang from his shoulders. “You did it, it’s over.”

Strange. He heard Jenny and Jelly talking, voices overlapping, drowning out the sound of the kitten crying—if it even was crying. He almost though he heard someone yelling for Skimble, too.

“Here, do you want to lie down?”

Lie down? He couldn’t even tell which way was up. Munkustrap seemed to be trying to coax him into a different position, but Mistoffelees felt too sluggish to cooperate. Was he supposed to be so dizzy?

“Misto? Hey, are you with me? Are you--”

Whatever Munkustrap was trying to do with his body suddenly stopped. Mistoffelees thought he heard a gasp, but everything felt so tinny and distant.

“J-jenny? Jelly! One of you! Come here now!”

Munkustrap’s urgent yell brought him back, if only partway. Mistoffelees’ head rolled weakly on his shoulders. “What… what happ…”

Someone, Jenny or Jelly or maybe even Skimble, was at his side. There was Munkustrap’s voice again, tinged with fear. “Is this… is this normal?”

Jenny’s sudden gasp spoke volumes. “Everlasting, no,” she breathed, then sprang into action. “Munkustrap, lay him down and hand me one of those cloths. Misto, this is important. You need to stay awake.”

Mistoffelees blinked dazedly as Munkustrap lifted him bodily and deposited him on the bed, flat on his back. A moment later he felt Jenny pressing a cloth to the fur between his legs, and then another.

“Munkustrap, go fetch me the blue cup from that table over there. The blue cup. There’s only one like that.”

As Munkustrap hurriedly obeyed, Mistoffelees lethargically turned his head; Munkustrap’s gray fur was soaked in blood.

Blinking, he was about to ask if Munkustrap was all right, when Jenny swapped her cloth for a new one, and he saw the discarded one soaked in blood too.

Jenny’s face hovered in his field of vision, tense and stressed. “I need you to drink this. Slow sips, but you need to finish the whole cup.”

She pressed a blue cup to his lips. Sipping was easy; swallowing felt like a chore, especially as he started to shake from a sudden attack of chills. The liquid in the cup was cold and the bitterness hit his tongue, making him gasp. Jenny roughly clapped a paw over his mouth, holding it shut until he was done shuddering. She only removed it when she seemed confident he wasn’t going to throw up the tea.

“That should start working soon. Skimble, I’m going to need more cloths.”

The next few minutes were a blur. Whether due to the tea or because his body was just giving up from exhaustion, the pain and noise around him faded to a dull roar. He heard Jelly yelling, someone calling his name, the faint sound of something small crying, and then he passed out.

Chapter Text

Tugger sat, arms crossed over his chest, in a half-doze on his perch near Jenny’s den. There wasn’t much to do, or to see, or even to hear (did Jenny’s den always have such soundproof walls?) and as the hours blended into each other, Tugger found it harder and harder to ward off sleep. The morning spring sun wasn’t helping, warming his fur to a slow sizzle.

Within an hour of Tugger settling near the den, it became clear the entire yard knew Mistoffelees was in labour. During a time where everyone should have been asleep, an awful lot of folks happened to be taking walks, looking for food, or going to visit someone, coincidentally all walking past Jenny’s den. Some of them spotted Tugger and quickened their pace out of there. Others tried to join him in his vigil, only to be discouraged to stay.

Cyrano had come by and stayed by his father until Tugger shooed him away. Josephine did the same, and stubbornly lasted longer before finally letting Tugger kick her back to her den.

So, Tugger sat, and waited. By the time his chin knocked against his chest again and he jerked himself awake, the sun was high in the sky and Tugger had to rise and stretch to keep himself awake.

And then the door to Jenny’s den opened. The jolt of adrenaline had Tugger fully awake in seconds.

Munkustrap shuffled out, looking bent and weary. Tugger was on his feet, bolting down from his perch, about to grab his brother by the shoulders and breathlessly ask for an update, when he smelled—and then saw—the blood on Munkustrap’s fur.

A lot of blood. Too much blood. Mistoffelees’ blood.

Tugger felt the world titling sideways. “Oh no. No, no, no….”

“Tugger, breathe.” Maybe he’d really been about to keel over, because Munkustrap caught him by the shoulders, and maneuvered him to the ground into a sitting position. “He’s okay. Did you hear me? Misto’s going to be okay.”

“The blood, is… it’s…”

Tugger couldn’t help it. He was too tired, too wound up, too broken down. He choked back a single sob before dissolving into tears, dropping his face into Munkustrap’s shoulder. Mistoffelees’ scent was there, thick in the gray fur, spurring him on until he’d ugly-cried his heart out.

“It’s okay, Tug. I know…”

Munkustrap held him through it, shushing some comforting nonsense, patting his back. It took several minutes for Tugger to get some sense, and some breath, back into his body, pulling away just enough to see the drying blood again. He really didn’t want to leave his brother’s arms.

Munkustrap followed his line of sight and offered an exhausted smile. “I know. It looks bad. He’s okay, I promise. It just got a little rough towards the end.”

“The kittens?” Tugger dragged a paw across his eyes. It didn’t really help with the wetness.

Munkustrap hesitated around the answer. It wasn’t lost to Tugger how tired he must be, having come straight from the Ball to Jenny’s den and supporting Mistoffelees through the birth. He owed Munk a nice present for all this. Maybe a new collar or some prime rib roast.

“The kittens are… here,” Munkustrap said at last.

They were here. It was done. But all he cared about now was his mate. “I need to see Misto.”

He was on his feet and about to run for Jenny’s den when Munkustrap caught him. “Tugger, wait. Jenny said not to disturb him. He’s asleep right now, and it sounds like he will be for a while. There’s nothing to see yet.”

The tears were coming back. He had no fight left in him, but he reasoned he could probably toss Munkustrap aside if he had to. “I need to see him, I need to know he’s okay--”

“He is okay,” Munkustrap gently said, pulling until Tugger half-collapsed on the ground again. His arms went around Tugger’s chest, holding him tight, and Tugger didn’t resist. Munk wouldn’t lie to him. Mistoffelees had to be fine.

He didn’t care about seeing the kittens, but the idea that he couldn’t even see his mate right now… Tugger heaved a shaky sigh, clawing at his mane, pulling a few hairs loose. “I should have been there with him…”

Munkustrap made a soft, amused hum. “Honestly, I think you did each other a favour by not being there. It would have been too difficult for both of you.”

“I love him so much…”

“I know.” Munkustrap sighed, letting Tugger collapse into his chest as he started to cry again. “I know you do. I mean, look at you.”

Tugger sniffled loudly, followed by a wavering chuckle. "I-I guess I do look very good right now, right?"

"You never looked this good for me, and I'm your brother." 

Anyone wandering by Jenny’s den at the moment would have been puzzled to find the two hugging tightly, giggling through tears, and might have assumed something terrible and tragic had just happened, especially with the blood drying into tackiness on Munkustrap’s fur.

Speaking of which. The scent was too much to ignore and Tugger finally pulled away for real, scrubbing at his eyes. “You, uh… should probably go wash.”

Munkustrap chuckled weakly. “And you should go sleep.”

“But I want--”

“Tugger. I promise you, Jenny won’t let you in there. He’s sleeping, and Jenny was heading off for a nap too as soon as she saw Jelly off. If you disturb her after all that, she’ll scratch your mane off. Go get a few hours of sleep, and then come back and see him, okay? He’s not going anywhere right now.”

Tugger finally nodded, not without a whole lot of reluctance. He wanted to see and hold Mistoffelees so badly but Munkustrap had a point—he’d only be waking him up. Plus, Tugger probably looked a mess right now, and it wouldn’t do to scare Mistoffelees with his puffy red eyes and a destroyed mane.

But. The last thing Tugger wanted was to be alone, with his own thoughts and anxiety swirling through his head.

As though reading his mind, Munkustrap got to his feet and pulled Tugger up alongside him. “If you don’t mind, I can clean up and sleep at your den. We can head back here together in a few hours.”

Tugger almost swayed with relief. Munkustrap’s arm went around his shoulders, and he reciprocated the gesture as they trudged toward Tugger’s den. “Only because you insist, of course.”

***

Waking up was like trudging through taffy.

Mistoffelees was tempted not to fight it, to sink back into the warm comfort of unconsciousness. He was too drowsy for coherent thought, and in fact, couldn’t quite figure out why he’d bothered to try and wake up in the first place.

Until he heard it.

A soft mewling sound. Instinct ran deep and propelled him the rest of the way back to consciousness. Something small and helpless was crying and needed him, now.

His eyes were blurry and sore but he opened them, blinking, wondering about the unfamiliar surroundings as the memories of the last few hours began to coalesce. Labour. Pain. Pushing. Munkustrap’s scent, comforting him. The cry of a kitten, and then…

Then what? Blood, and… nothing. Until now.

He heard the mewling again. Soft, but he couldn’t ignore it. Mistoffelees dug his claws into the blankets beneath him, used them as leverage to haul himself into a sitting position.

It was painful. His body ached, his joints throbbed, and somewhere between his legs there was a sharp, vivid pain that warned him against moving too quickly. He had to roll onto his side first and then work to sit up, needing a moment to catch his breath and blink the pinpricks out of his vision.

Jenny’s den was dark, but not so dark that he couldn’t see around him. Mussed blankets all over. A pile of cloths in one corner—he didn’t need a closer look to know they were probably soaked with blood. Teacups on every surface. And there, in the corner, in a nest of soft blankets, was a squirming little bundle.

It mewled again, long and plaintive, and as Mistoffelees stared at it, blinking the dizziness away, his chest suddenly ached. As he ran a trembling paw over the fur, it came away wet, and Mistoffelees sighed.

Jenny said the milk would go away on its own. She said he didn’t have to do this, that she had ways of feeding the kittens.

But it was there, and it was crying, all alone. Mistoffelees inched off the bed, gasping at the exquisite pain between his legs, and started a few shuffling steps.

He felt odd. Lighter and stiffer than he’d felt before labour had started. He still looked pregnant—he knew his belly would remain swollen for a few days still—and he also knew that if he pressed at the roundness, it would be soft and pliant, not firm with kittens.

Each step hurt. But he lumbered on, until he reached the little nest. Holding on to a nearby cabinet for support, he looked down.

There was only one kitten there. He wondered, briefly, about the second one, but his focus was on the tiny body, the tiny face. It mewled, scrabbling at the air, kicking off what remained of the blanket. Mistoffelees saw it was a tom. He looked surprisingly little like Macavity; his fur was short, and mostly white aside for a few stripes of dark red.

“Hi,” Mistoffelees whispered. His voice was brittle. He cleared his throat, not wanting to scare the kitten with a dry croak. “Hi. It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you, don’t cry…”

He picked up the kitten with shaky arms, holding him against his chest for support. With the cabinet wedged against his back, he slid to the floor, shifting this way and that until he found a way to sit that didn’t aggravate the sharp pain between his legs.

The tom, meanwhile, had one thought on his mind, rooting around through Mistoffelees’ fur the moment he was close enough to smell milk. He shifted the kitten in the crook of his arm and let him nose around with indignant mewls, until he found a nipple and latched on firmly, kneading frantically at Mistoffelees’ chest with needle-sharp claws.

“Oof, easy… you’re a strong one, aren’t you?”

Mistoffelees smiled, stroking the kitten’s back, watching him knead and squeak around his mouthful of milk and swallow. He was cute. So small, yet so strong. His eyes were still closed, his ears were still rounded. His fur was soft and dry. Someone must have bathed him while he was asleep. Or was he passed out? He couldn’t remember much, and in the moment, nothing mattered much aside from the kitten in his arms.

But there should have been two, right? Mistoffelees looked around the den, eyes still blurry, and as if answering his question before he’d even asked it, the door to Jenny’s room slowly creaked open.

Jenny stepped out, making soft shushing noises, holding a bundle in her arms and an empty bottle in the other. She hadn’t noticed Mistoffelees on the floor yet, as she tiptoed over to the small nest, preparing to put the other kitten down.

It was almost comical, the way Jenny startled, noticing the nest was empty, and frantically looked around for the missing kitten, uttering a squeak of shock when she finally spotted Mistoffelees.

“Oh!” Jenny sighed, putting her free paw to her chest. “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you. Oh, Misto…”

She seemed to hesitate about whether to put down the kitten in her arms, and finally opted to keep it bundled in her arms as she maneuvered to the floor. As she saw what Mistoffelees was doing, her sigh was heavy and disapproving.

“You don’t need to do that, Misto. I told you, I’ve got milk and bottles. They might as well get used to it now, before they… well.”

“He was hungry,” Mistoffelees rasped. “He was crying, I couldn’t…”

Jenny sighed again. He couldn’t blame her, he had no words right now either. While the tom kept feeding, Mistoffelees couldn’t help it, craning his sore neck to see the bundle in Jenny’s arms.

“It’s a queen,” Jenny said. She snapped her mouth shut as soon as she did, as though unsure if she was supposed to share that information or not.

“Can I hold her?”

Jenny didn’t sigh, but her face made it clear what she thought of his request. Still, she unwrapped the blanket a bit so he could see and transferred her over to Mistoffelees’ other arm without arguing. Once the kitten was secure, she rolled to her feet, grabbing pillows and putting the kettle on.

The queen was so small, sleeping soundly. Her tiny pink nose stood out against her white muzzle, the lightness giving way to dark fur streaked with red. He would have to unwrap her to be sure, but she seemed to be a tuxedo, with black-and-red fur instead of pure black.

She twitched in her sleep, made a face, opened her mouth, then decided sleep was still in vogue. She fell still again with a tiny squeak.

In his other arm, the tom released a nipple and rooted around for more. Mistoffelees adjusted his grip to make his search easier and winced as the tiny mouth found its goal.

They were perfect. Completely adorable, eating well, sleeping well so far. Mistoffelees’ arms began to tremble, though that could have been due to the strain of holding two bundles in either arm.

As though on cue, Jenny returned to his side. She shoved two pillows under his arms for support and brought a steaming cup up to his lips.

“No thank you, not right now…”

“Yes, right now,” Jenny said. It was clear that the matter was not up for debate. “You’ve lost a lot of blood and you’re already dehydrated. If you insist on doing this, you need to get some fluids in you. You can’t feed a kitten if you don’t feed yourself. Open.”

He was too tired to argue. He let Jenny bring the cup to his lips, tipping some of the mint-flavoured tea into his mouth. He swallowed it gratefully, thirstier than he realized.

“That’s a start,” Jenny nodded. “After this, we’ll work to get you something to eat. I’ve still got those lovely shortbread cookies, they’re in the room. You won’t be able to make any more milk until you eat first.”

Mistoffelees gulped until the tea was gone. It did somewhat help the queasiness that had settled in his stomach since he’d gotten up and stumbled around. The thought of shortbread cookies didn’t do much for him though. How could he think of snacking when he was holding these two in his arms?

“Jenny, what happened exactly? I barely remember her coming out. Just… blood.”

Jenny gave the queen a long, maternal look. “The first one came out just fine, but he was a big one. He tore you on the way out. It’s nothing to worry about, it happens quite a bit when kittens are on the bigger side. We stitched you up now, you’ll feel sore for a few days but it should heal up nicely. As for this little one…”

The queen huffed a tiny purr when Jenny stroked her cheek. Something about the plain tenderness of the motion made Mistoffelees’ heart clench.

“… well, she came out quicker. She didn’t cry right away—that’s normal too—but while Jelly and I were working to rouse her a bit, you started bleeding. I’m so sorry, love, I know it sounds frightening.”

Mistoffelees nodded minutely. He had a faint memory of bright red blood on Munkustrap’s fur and panicked yelling. It all seemed so distant now, in the dark quiet of the den. “Thank you for saving me. For saving us.”

“Thank you for staying awake long enough for me to pour tea down your throat,” Jenny chuckled weakly. “I had medicinal teas prepared for every eventuality, including this. I really do wish I didn’t have to use it, but it worked to stop the bleeding before it was too late. You were lucky it worked so fast. We were all lucky.”

Lucky wasn’t the word he was keen on using these days, but he accepted it.

“You’ll just need some rest, plenty of fluids, and you’ll be just fine.”

It occurred to him that Jenny was starting to ramble, filling up the silence so the obvious question couldn’t be asked: the kittens are out, so now what?

If he didn’t have two newborn kittens in his arms, Jenny would definitely be ushering him back to bed. Maybe to a bath first. But definitely insisting on rest, and another cup of tea, and to relax. But every action was now on hold until the bundles in his arms were dealt with.

They were so small. They were sleeping so peacefully, snuggling up against their parent. They had no idea of the deal that brought them here, of the future that awaited them. All they cared about was safety, milk, and warmth.

“Jenny…” Mistoffelees’ voice was weak and cracked. “Oh, Jenny, what have I done?”

“Ah poppet, I don’t have the answer to that,” Jenny sighed, sliding her arm around his shoulders. “I think you did the only thing you could, as difficult as it was. You did it for Mandra.”

“I thought I would hate them. I did hate them, when I was pregnant. But… Everlasting. Look at them.”

“They are Macavity’s kittens, don’t forget.”

“But they’re… they’re just kittens. They’re so… cute.”

Maybe a part of him had expected monsters. Ugly little things, reflecting their sire’s evil. But he could barely see Macavity in these little ones. They were blank slates, where nurture as much as nature would determine the course of their lives.

Could he really take them over to Macavity, hand them over, and walk away?

Ah. But if he walked away, he would walk away with Mandra at his side.

He had to do it. Before he got more attached, before he memorized their faces and their scents. Before they memorized his scent. Maybe they could be happy, if they knew nothing of their story. They were Macavity’s heirs. He would treat them like royals, give them the best food, tear apart any tom or queen who so much as looked at them crooked. They would grow up safe, maybe even happy.

He had to do it, and now. It hurt, tearing at his soul, draining it even more than the birth had.

But if he spent too long thinking, he would lose his nerve, and he would lose the whole reason he did this awful deed in the first place.

“Jenny, I-I could use something to eat, actually. I feel faint. Do you think those cookies…?”

Jenny seemed relieved to have something practical to do. She rubbed his arm and hoisted herself to her feet again. “Of course. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve rested up and eaten, so push those thoughts out for now. I’ll be right back… oh, as soon as I find a clean plate too!”

She disappeared into the room. She wouldn’t be gone long—surely the cookies, and a plate, weren’t difficult to find. Careful not to jostle the kittens to wakefulness, Mistoffelees managed a slow, painful rise upright, moaning softly at every ache and pain and pull of his stitches.

He was running on adrenaline, which was very useful for moving without too much distraction from pain. If he stopped and thought too hard, he feared he’d be able to talk himself out of this. He shuffled to the tom’s little nest, pulling a small blanket free to bundle him up, cradling both kittens securely in his arms. They were both asleep, innocent, oblivious.

“Everlasting, I hope you two will forgive me for this…”

***

Tugger slept fitfully for four hours and decided that was enough.

He tiptoed out of his room and did his best not to disturb Munkustrap, who was utterly dead to the world on a borrowed blanket in the middle of the den. As exhausted as he was, he was still the Jellicle protector, and shot to wakefulness before Tugger could leave the den.

“Go back to sleep,” Tugger said. “It’s okay. I’m just going to see him.”

Munkustrap nodded. In between now and when they’d come back to the den, ready to collapse, he’d groomed the blood out of his fur and looked as immaculate as ever. “I’m coming with you.”

“I don’t think we should crowd him.”

“Tug, I’m not going for him.” Munkustrap rose to his feet. His smile was tired but paternal as he walked over to Tugger, smoothing down a few wild tufts of mane. “He doesn’t need me anymore. I’m going for you.”

“You’re a stupid sap,” Tugger choked, whirling away quickly before Munkustrap could see the tears welling up in his eyes. He had to keep some dignity intact, after all.

The walk over to Jenny’s den was peaceful in more ways than one. It was still light out, meaning most of the junkyard was asleep, or at least squirreled away in their den gossiping about what was happening. He and Munkustrap walked in quiet, a small favour Tugger appreciated. Any amount of talking, no matter how casual, would have had him dissolve into a blubbering mess. The silence gave him time to gather himself before seeing his mate.

“He might still be asleep,” Munkustrap said when they reached Jenny’s den.

“I’ll just watch over him until he wakes up. Wait for me out there?”

Munkustrap dutifully nodded and found a resting place while Tugger faced the den. He felt like a stranger, approaching the door after spending the last day sitting outside, far removed from the action within.

He could do this. He could open that door and step inside and be there for Mistoffelees, because this wasn’t about him and his feelings. This was about his mate, and their family, and he had a duty to be whatever Mistoffelees needed him to be right now.

Tugger drew in a breath, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

It was quiet. His first thought was that everyone was still asleep. There was a sizeable nest in the middle of the den, probably where Mistoffelees had given birth, and Tugger felt his legs go wobbly at the thought.

The nest was empty now. Mistoffelees was nowhere to be seen, nor were the kittens. He could hear rustling from behind the door to Jenny’s room: of course, Jenny had probably ushered them all there to sleep.

Tugger stood there for several minutes, debating his next move, fidgeting with some cups filled with cold leftover tea. He could knock on Jenny’s door and peek inside, just to see for himself that Mistoffelees was all right. He could smell him in the den, his scent all over the blankets. There were faint metallic whisps of blood in the air, and some unfamiliar scents that made Tugger’s heart clench. He struggled not to commit them to memory.

He nearly jumped out of his mane when the door to Jenny’s room creaked open and Jenny herself walked out, holding a plate of cookies and nearly upending them in shock as she spotted Tugger.

“Oh! Oh Everlasting, why do people keep startling me in my own home!” Jenny handed him the plate of cookies and put both hands over her heart. “It’s been a very trying day and I only have so many lives left.”

“Sorry, Jenny,” Tugger murmured. “I wanted to see Misto. I know he’s sleeping, but I had to… I just had to make sure he was all right. Munk told me everything. Is he okay? Is he upset? Um… Jenny?”

Seemingly recovered from her small heart attack, Jenny was now looking around the den, too preoccupied to pay attention to Tugger’s words. She circled around him, looking all over as though she’d lost something.

“Did you take him home?” she urgently asked. “Is he at your den with the kittens?”

It took Tugger a moment to process her questions. “Wh—no, he’s… I just got here. Isn’t he in your room?”

“He shouldn’t be up and about now, he’s still recovering—Skimble!” Jenny was well beyond the edge of panic now, rushing over to her room, yelling again for Skimble to wake up, right now, it was an emergency…

Tugger stood numbly. The plate of cookies tumbled to the ground. “He’s gone?”

Jenny’s voice faded to a dull roar. So did Skimble’s, when he came barrelling out of the room.

Tugger knew. When Jenny finally stopped her mad circuit of the den, as though Mistoffelees and the kittens were somehow stashed in a cabinet, their eyes locked and he could see that she knew, too. A cold sense of dread creeped through his insides.

“He’s taking them to Macavity. Alone.”

Chapter Text

He couldn’t have gotten far.

And yet he was nowhere to be found.

Tugger ran, through the junkyard and out into the field beyond, taking a moment to gulp air into his burning lungs and consider the way ahead. Jenny had only left the room for five minutes, she said. Give or take. Mistoffelees, exhausted from giving birth and with two newborns in his arms, couldn’t have gotten farther than the road in front of Jenny’s den in that time.

But he wasn’t there. So Tugger knew the obvious: he had to have teleported. Which meant he could already be in Elmsmere Way, already knocking on Macavity’s door, and already handing over the kittens.

Good. Great. That was the endgame. But there was no way Tugger planned to let him do it alone, not when they ran the risk of Macavity reneging on his deal in any way. Once the kittens were in hand, he could easily kill Mandra and Mistoffelees and there would be nothing to do about it.

So Tugger ran. Elmsmere Way was two hours away. If he ran, letting adrenaline fuel him, maybe he could get there in time.

He’d nearly knocked over Munkustrap on his way out of the den. He’d left Jenny to explain the situation, counting on Munkustrap to know his brother well enough to know what he was doing, and to rouse a few folks to follow. As much as Tugger hated to admit it, he didn’t want to barrel into Macavity’s hideout by himself.

Panting, Tugger ran through the field, legs burning and cramping as he leapt over dry shrubbery and rocks. The field felt never-ending, and Elmsmere Way felt so far away still, when Tugger stopped again to catch his breath. He really needed to get more exercise.

Doubled over, Tugger gasped and panted and tried to will his heart to slow down before it exploded out of his chest, when he heard a sound.

He looked behind him—not Munkustrap calling his name, coming up with reinforcements. No birds in sight. Tugger held his breath for a moment and heard it again… and his heart skipped again, not for lack of oxygen this time.

It was the cry of a kitten.

Tugger followed the noise, to a clump of three bushes about fifty paces in front of him. He walked slowly, legs like rubber, out of trepidation of what he would find when he got there.

When he reached the bushes, Tugger fell to his knees.

“Misto…!”

***

It was a stupid idea. But really, what other choice did he have?

He was hours after giving birth, stitched up, weak from blood loss. He knew walking wasn’t going to get him very far. So, he tried teleporting.

Which didn’t get him very far either, but at least it was a head start.

When he’d reappeared, fighting the urge to pass out, Mistoffelees fell to his knees and summoned all his willpower not to drop the kittens. They didn’t seem to mind going through their first teleportation, reacting to the magic with a twitch of a whisker and nothing more. They were still fast asleep.

Mistoffelees wished he could join them. Even teleporting this much, just a few hundred meters outside the junkyard, had sapped the rest of his strength. Teleporting again wasn’t an option. He was going to have to walk the rest of the way to Macavity’s.

Every step was slow and shuffling but he focused on putting one paw in front of the other. Briefly, he felt a pang of guilt for what he’d left behind—unless the plates were quite well hidden, then Jenny had surely puttered out of the room by now, noticing his absence. Panicking, summoning help, wondering where on earth he’d gone off to. Someone would figure it out eventually. He’d hoped to have had more of a head start by now, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Mistoffelees kept walking, panting, hissing every so often at the pain of his stitches, the ache of his arms. The kittens were small, but they were becoming a noticeable weight. At least they were quiet.

Oh, but he spoke too soon.

It hadn’t been that long since her last meal, but kittens ate when they wanted to eat, and the little queen made her appetite known with a sudden cry. Her tiny mouth rooted against the blanket and, finding nothing, she wailed indignantly.

“Easy, easy,” Mistoffelees cooed. He kept his voice steady against the rising panic. Stopping right now wasn’t part of his plan, but soldiering on with a crying kitten wasn’t exactly prudent either. He had a few crumbs of dignity left and he wasn’t about to waste them by rolling up to Macavity’s house, with two wailing bundles and dribbling milk all over the place.

The field was on the bare side but it was dotted with the remnants of bushes. A clump of bushes sat nearby, really more of an assortment of twigs, but the middle bush was making a valiant effort to grow some leaves. Mistoffelees shuffled over and crawled under the greenery, allowing himself a groan.

Everything hurt. His joints were sore, the damn stitches felt like fire, his chest felt ready to explode. Worst of all was the way his heart ached.

The queen nosed and screamed and it took a moment for Mistoffelees to shift her without dropping her brother, waiting for her to realize that food was within reach. She chewed at his damp fur and finally managed to find a nipple, clamping on tight as though to say finally, some service!

Maybe leaving on his own was a mistake. But he was too raw right now, too easily convinced. Jenny would have changed his mind with a single look. Munk would have come with him, if he’d asked, with silent support and no judgment, but it still would have been too much for him to handle. Better that—

Wait.

There was a noise—a shuffle, like paws scrabbling on the dirt and grass. It couldn’t be a hench cat, not this far out, but Mistoffelees couldn’t dismiss the thought, holding the kittens tight, trying to make himself as small as possible under the scant camouflage of the little bush. He could still hiss and scratch if he had to.

The shuffle came closer, clumsy and frantic, and Mistoffelees nearly jumped out of his skin when a body dropped to its knees in front of the bush and a face popped in.

“Misto…!”

“Tugger!” His voice cracked. Oh Everlasting, he was not going to cry. “How are you here?”

Tugger squeezed himself in beneath the branches of the bush, still working to catch his breath. “Artful and knowing… and apparently, really good with timing? Or really bad, depending on your point of view. If I’d have barged into Jenny’s den a few minutes earlier, I would have caught you.”

“I’m just…” Mistoffelees stumbled over his words. He didn’t miss the way Tugger was looking him up and down, looking at the kittens but pretending he wasn’t. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

It’d been about a day since they’d last seen each other, and yet it felt like ages. There was so much he wanted to say, so many feelings he wanted to lay bare. They hadn’t talked, not really, since this whole nightmare began. No words that weren’t sharp and angry, or politely neutral.

Mistoffelees had no anger left. He suspected Tugger felt the same, as he reached for Mistoffelees’ face, cupping it gently, bringing their foreheads together. Oh, he’d missed this.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Tugger murmured. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t protect you, I didn’t protect our family, I said things I shouldn’t have…”

“No, I’m sorry. I hurt you. I went behind your back when I should have worked with you instead. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Tugger pulled away. His warm paws still cupped Mistoffelees’ face. He never wanted those paws to move. “You were. You did your best. Maybe there wasn’t a ‘right thing’ to do, but we didn’t have any choices left…”

Tugger trailed off. To Mistoffelees’ surprise, he laughed.

It was short and breathless and ended with a sniffle as he wiped at his eyes. “There was so much I wanted to say these last few weeks. I went over conversations in my head, and we had fabulous arguments over everything, lots of yelling and posturing…”

Mistoffelees huffed a small laugh. He’d missed this too. “Did you win every single argument?”

“Oh yes,” Tugger said. “I was quite the orator. You should have seen it. I didn’t even cry or anything.”

Not like right now. Mistoffelees could see the tears brimming in Tugger’s eyes, and if he looked too long, it was going to get him bawling too. He shuffled and managed to put his head on Tugger’s shoulder. Tugger’s arm went around him automatically, like old times.

“Oh, Misto. How did we get here?”

“I teleported and fell on my arse. You ran until you fell on your arse. That’s about it.”

Tugger laughed again. This time they both did, a little deliriously, until tears rolled down their cheeks. Tears of laughter, sadness, exhaustion… all a terrible muddle.

“I really am sorry,” Mistoffelees sighed shakily. “I thought… I really thought I was making the right choice.”

“I’m sorry too. We should have talked earlier, instead of freezing each other out. This was just impossible, for us both. It wouldn’t be Macavity without chaos and destruction.”

“I still love you, Tug.”

Tugger’s arm squeezed him closer. “I still love you. I never stopped, I swear. I was an idiot, I was so scared, I didn’t want to lose you and I didn’t know how to say it…”

He was rambling, they both were. They’d said what mattered. Luckily, they were distracted from further rambling as the little queen finished her milk and whined. She needed to be burped. Mistoffelees shifted her in his arms, trying to figure out how to do this while juggling two kittens, when Tugger held out his paws.

“Here, hand the other one over until… is it a he? She?”

“She. This one’s a queen and that one’s a tom. I just need to help her burp.”

He heard Tugger swallow. “Hand him over until she’s done.”

He did, letting Tugger take the tom. His heart twisted at the sight of Tugger handling a kitten again with such ease. He really was a natural father, adjusting the tom’s blanket and cradling him against his chest.

While Mistoffelees shifted the queen over his shoulder and gave her a few pats, he kept his eyes on Tugger, who was carefully studying the tom, a faint smile on his face. More kittens for them was definitely out of the picture, but Tugger as a grandfather would definitely be something to behold. If things went back to normal, if their lives could resume after being shattered, Mistoffelees looked forward to the day one of their seven kittens became a parent.

That was the future. There was still the immediate to deal with. While Tugger gently bounced the tom, he seemed to get the wrong idea, opening his tiny mouth and plunging into Tugger’s mane.

“Hey, ow! That’s for looking fabulous, it’s not food. Dig all you want, there’s nothing fun for you in there.”

Mistoffelees chuckled tiredly. It was natural, so natural, for them to swap kittens. Tugger bundled up the queen in his arms while Mistoffelees set to nursing the tom again. Bast, these two were hungry.

“Tug,” Mistoffelees said. His voice stuck in his throat. “I just… I just want us to be all right again.”

As tired as he looked, Tugger gave a faint smile, warm and genuine. “We will be. I promise.”

They sat, huddled in their little bush in silence as the minutes ticked by. It occurred to Mistoffelees that he hadn’t felt such peace in over nine weeks. It couldn’t last.

“I suppose we should finish this, right Tug?”

But then there was Tugger. Tugger, who could read him like an open book, putting words to the thoughts he didn’t want to voice. “You don’t want to do this, do you? You don’t want to bring them to Macavity. You want to keep them.”

“I can’t. I don’t even know if I could stand to raise them as my own, but… even if I did, we can’t keep them. I made a promise to Mandra and I can’t leave her there a minute longer. I can’t have it both ways. Not after all this.”

Tugger nodded. He looked down at the queen in his arms with heavy eyes. “Maybe we can… trick him?”

“I tried already. My magic’s just not as strong as his. There’s no way I could conjure up anything that will convince him.”

“Maybe you just need to fool him long enough to hand over Mandra.”

“Even then, he’d see through it instantly.”

Mistoffelees sighed, helplessly, moving the tom against his shoulder. He could conjure up a bird to fool a small kitten, but to fool the Hidden Paw, he’d need…

Hold on.

Maybe magic on its own wouldn’t be enough, but with a little ingenuity… maybe there was a way.

He looked down at the kittens. They were Macavity’s kittens, that’s what he’d spent so much time telling himself. Maybe magical, maybe not. But they were more than that. They were his son, his daughter. Maybe there was a way to do right by them, and by the daughter Macavity still had locked up.

“Tug… I don’t know if I’m delirious, but I-I might have an idea. But we’d need—Tug?”

Tugger’s attention was on the field behind them, ears perked. Again, Mistoffelees feared the presence of a hench cat, sniffing to see if anything was happening, even this far out of Elmsmere Way. Everlasting, let it not be Macavity—Mistoffelees had the inklings of a plan, but he needed to give it careful consideration first.

But then Tugger smiled. Still holding the kitten, he scrambled out from under the bush. “Does this maybe-idea of yours require some reinforcements?”

He was still too sore to be nimble, but Mistoffelees managed to crawl out from under the bush too, and the sight made his heart skip.

Munkustrap, Demeter, Alonzo, Skimbleshanks… Cyrano, Augusta, of course they wouldn’t stay behind… and others too, all running up, hastening as Tugger waved to them. Mistoffelees wanted to cry again. Of course they’d come for him, to help in any way they could.

His idea didn’t necessarily involve a fight, but he couldn’t discount it entirely. And now, he had help.

It was stupid. Risky. Foolish. But maybe—just maybe—he now had a chance to save everyone.

Chapter Text

Mandra stood, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

The tingle of magic filled her paw and in quick succession, she summoned the toy block, the glass frog, and a folded woolen blanket, the biggest object she’d teleported so far. The blanket came back with dust and dry leaves stuck to the material. Mandra grinned.

It was getting easier and easier. Faster and faster, too. Just a few weeks ago, she would have had to really focus, call up the magic slowly, and wait a few seconds for results. Now, with nothing else to do but practice, the maneuvers were getting easier, and teleporting an object back and forth felt as simple as plucking it from a shelf.

Her distance was improving, too. She knew the area around Macavity’s house was nothing but barren road but beyond, there was dried vegetation. The blanket had returned peppered with leaves, a sign that she could now reach the area beyond the road.

What she could actually do with these improving skills was still uncertain. She’d tried teleporting herself, but hadn’t so much as moved an inch. She still had the knife, secreted away from the dining room table during Vincenzo’s ill-fated rescue attempt, but she would have to be sensible about using it. She would only get one chance to use it, and if Macavity knew she had a weapon, she would probably end up in more restricted quarters than the junk-filled basement.

They didn’t think of her as a threat. And she wasn’t a threat, really. But if they gave her enough time, she’d find a way to become one.

Tossing the glass frog in her paw, Mandra whisked it away, bringing it back a second later. Smoother and smoother.

She could focus on teleporting heavier objects, like the bureau blocking the exit to the basement. But even that was no guarantee of escape. She shuddered as she recalled those two damn hench cat twins and how they’d torn Vincenzo apart without a care.

No, she would find a way, somehow. She’d prove to her fathers and siblings that she could be strong, too. Even though it was too late to save her father from having to carry Macavity’s kittens. The thought still twisted her heart, that he’d felt there was no other option than to do that for that awful Macavity.

The most disconcerting part was that Mandra had completely lost track of time down here. She thought she’d been so careful about counting the days, following the timeline her father had given her after telling her of his pregnancy. Shouldn’t the kittens be born by now? But there was no word from him, no sign of activity or news. Her food was brought by Bixbite and he made no mention of her dad, or of the kittens. So, clearly she’d miscounted the due date.

But she could be patient. She kept busy with her self-imposed training. Maybe by next week, she’d be able to teleport a rock over Macavity’s foot and really smash his stupid toes.

She’d only just summoned the glass frog back into her paw when the bureau scraped and someone came thumping down the stairs. Ugh, speak of the ugly devil. It was Bixbite, but his arms were empty. Which made sense, it wasn’t mealtime yet, but what was he so agitated about?

Mandra clenched the frog in her paw. She could use it as a weapon if she had to. “What do you want now?”

Bixbite cocked his head towards the staircase. “C’mon. You’re coming with me.”

“What is this, another escape plan?” Mandra schooled herself into a bored expression, walking over to the stairs. Interesting. She had never been allowed upstairs, even when her father visited.

Bixbite roughly grabbed her by the arm, pulling a wrist behind her back and marching her up the stairs. He snorted in reply to her question. “More like a family reunion. Yer whore of a dad is here. And he’s got something for Mac, looks like.”

Mandra almost missed a step. “Dad’s here? Is he okay? Oh Bast… did he…?”

Bixbite gave her a little shake, enough to silence her. Did he have the kittens, she was going to ask, but she doubted Bixbite would answer her. And given the commotion happening as they reached the top floor—yells, hollers, and every hench cat in the house heading for the front—she didn’t really need to ask.

Bixbite kept her in place while hench cats stumbled past. There were probably twenty, including the two awful white-furred twins, who gave her a long look and wicked grin before slinking towards the front of the house. A blaze of red fur appeared in Mandra’s peripheral vision and then Macavity swooped into place before her, with Sedna looking grim at his side.

“I suppose,” Macavity purred, offering her the hint of a toothy smile. “Today might be the day we say our farewells.”

Mandra kept quiet. Her heart skipped from joy, then from terror. Her dad was here. She might be going home. Or… or she might be marching towards her death. Was Macavity the type to keep his word? She could only guess. He might send her skipping home with a wave, or he might be planning to slit her throat on the front steps of the house.

Well. If this was the end, either way, she was going out with dignity. She shrugged airily, as much as she could with Bixbite holding her arms. “I’m going to miss this place.”

Macavity chuckled. “You’re welcome to visit any time. Family reunions are so important.”

Disgusting. It almost sounded like a tick in the ‘he’s about to let me go’ category, but Mandra still wasn’t getting her hopes up. She just hoped she could see her father one last time.

His chuckle over, Macavity cocked his head towards the front of the house. Sedna followed with a sigh. Bixbite trailed the two, dragging Mandra along.

“Let’s go welcome him.”

***

It still hurt to walk. But this was not the time to show pain, or weakness, or anything beyond cold determination.

Mistoffelees took a few steps towards Macavity’s house, paused, looked down at the kittens in his arms, and took a few more steps. Walking all the way from that little bush in the field to Elmsmere Way had felt like a days-long journey, and yet it also felt like he’d arrived here way too quickly. He wasn’t ready for this.

But there was no going back now. Macavity surely knew he was here the second he’d set foot in Elmsmere Way, and sure enough, he could see the commotion from the dirty windows of the house before the front door rattled open. A dozen or so hench cats poured out. Some he recognized from his previous trips here, though he couldn’t have put names to faces. They pushed and pulled for a good view of him but stayed on the porch, intimidating from a distance but ready to jump into the fray if needed.

If all went well, it would hopefully not come to that. This was supposed to be a peaceful exchange, and surely Macavity saw it that way too.

Speak of the damn devil.

Macavity walked out of the house, calm and collected. The two white hench cats were at his side, along with Sedna. She didn’t look especially thrilled at the exchange to come, at the responsibility about to be thrust into her bony arms. Maybe, like him, her life and her worth depending on keeping these kittens alive.

“Here we go,” Mistoffelees whispered to the kittens. They were quiet and looked perfectly serene, bundled up and asleep. His arms shook. Everlasting Cat, let this plan work.

Mistoffelees didn’t move from his spot. He needed Macavity to come to him for this to work. But he also wasn’t going to insist on a meeting until he saw Mandra.

He was about to ask—no, demand—to see her, when Sedna stepped aside and two more cats walked out of the house. Mandra was marched to the edge of the porch, Bixbite holding on to her arm and her scruff to keep her still. It couldn’t have been that much of a fight. She looked so small next to Bixbite and Macavity, even Sedna. Her expression turned to shock when she saw her father—he couldn’t blame her. There he was, disheveled, exhausted, still-swollen, holding two kittens. For her part, Mandra looked fine: well-fed and uninjured. Macavity had kept his word not to mistreat her.

Mistoffelees wanted to cry with relief. She was here, and she was so close.

“Welcome back,” Macavity purred. His smile was wide and easy. “Are you going to introduce me?”

“Send Mandra over first,” Mistoffelees said. Damn it, he sounded so weak and pathetic. “And you can have them. But I want her to be the one to take them.”

He cocked his head towards Sedna. She shrugged and frowned at Macavity: this was clearly not part of their plan.

Macavity seemed to be considering his request. Or at least, was trying to figure out his endgame.

“It’s just… she’s the one who’s going to take care of them, right?” Mistoffelees said. “They should know her scent first. Please, I’m just trying to make this easy for them.”

Please. Please let this work.

Macavity appeared to ponder the request for a few more seconds before putting his paw on Sedna’s shoulder, wordlessly telling her that she was not to move. “I am their sire and they will know my scent first.”

He let go of Sedna and gestured for Bixbite to follow. The scarred hench cat pushed Mandra in front of him, marching her over at Macavity’s side, still holding her scruff. Mistoffelees’ legs felt like rubber as the trio came to a stop right in front of him.

“Oh, Dad,” Mandra whispered, on the verge of tears. Not from fear or pain, but from pity. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Mistoffelees smiled. “It’s over. See? Here they are.”

Bixbite peered over her shoulder, clearly curious about the kittens. Maybe wondering if they looked like Macavity, or just curious about what newborn kittens looked like.

Mistoffelees finally looked up at Macavity, and found him staring down intently at the kittens, an unreadable look on his face that made Mistoffelees’ arms tremble. For the first time, he desperately wished his magic gave him the gift of telepathy.

“Tell Bixbite to take his hands off her,” Mistoffelees said, reaching deep into his well of confidence. “And you can take them. They’re yours, there’s no doubting it. One tom, one queen. They’re less than a day old. They’re going to be hungry again soon, so make sure you have milk ready for them. I don’t know if it matters, but the tom was born first.”

He was babbling, throwing all the information he could think of at Macavity, speaking loud enough for Sedna to hear in case, Bast forbid, they failed and she did end up taking the kittens in.

Macavity was still studying the kittens. For the first time, his face softened, and he reached for the bundles, pulling the blanket away from the queen’s face. He was almost tender about it.

Mistoffelees tried to keep his breathing steady, waiting for Macavity to extend his arms and ask for the kittens to be passed over. If only he could release Mandra first--

“Here, take them,” Mistoffelees said. He tried not to sound as frantic as he felt. “Just let my daughter go. Please, I did exactly what you asked. I don’t want to look at them anymore. Just let her go.”

Macavity’s eyes were still on the kittens. He nodded, almost like everything else was a distraction from his children. “All right. Bixbite, release her. No sudden movements from anyone, or else you and your daughter will be gutted here in the dirt.”

It was working. Mistoffelees adjusted his hold on the kittens as Macavity put his arms out for them, ready to pass them over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bixbite release Mandra’s scruff. It was working.

For a split second.

The kittens hadn’t changed hands yet. But Macavity’s expression turned cold when his paw brushed them. He whipped his arms away.

“You fiend,” Macavity growled. To Bixbite, he said, “Hold her.”

“No, wait!” Mistoffelees cried. He wanted to reach for Mandra, but the kittens in his arms made it impossible. “Just let her go! Take your kittens!”

“You thought you could fool me? These are not my kittens. They stink of magic, and poor magic at that. It’s almost an insult that you thought this would fool me. You would deliver these… these illusions to me? I will only ask this once: where are the real kittens? I can smell them. I know they are here.”

All the menace they’d previously seen in Macavity was nothing compared to the pure malevolence he was now directing at Mistoffelees. For a horrible moment, Mistoffelees feared this was the end, all for nothing, that Macavity would tear out his throat or order his hench cats to do the same. He saw the split second in which Macavity considered it, too. But then he seemed to recall that he needed Mistoffelees alive and whole, just in case, and turned his anger towards Bixbite and the hench cats on the porch.

“These are illusions! Forget him. My kittens are here somewhere. Find them, and kill whoever you find holding them!”

The hench cats, glad for some action, dispersed from the porch. Still holding the bundles to his chest, Mistoffelees met Mandra’s eyes; they were wide, but not scared. In fact, she seemed to be focusing on something.

“Please, Macavity,” Mistoffelees said, trying one final tactic. Mandra was so close, all he had to do was pull her away from Bixbite somehow. “I don’t know why you’re saying such things, maybe it’s my magic you’re smelling, but these are yours…!”

Macavity had no eyes for him. He was eager to prowl, to join the search for his kittens. He walked briskly past Bixbite, pausing only to hiss instructions. “Kill her. Then, find another of his kittens, and bring them to me.”

Macavity stalked away, sniffing the air. Bixbite grinned, slow and lascivious, locking eyes with Mistoffelees as he yanked Mandra’s scruff, stretching out the claws of his other paw, drawing out the torturous suspense.    

Mistoffelees wanted to howl. It had almost worked, Mandra was right there, and if he wasn’t hours past a traumatic birth, he would have thrown himself at the two to fight with whatever skill he had.

Before he could think, three things happened.

Bixbite drew his paw back. On instinct, Mistoffelees lunged forward.

A sudden light flashed from Mandra’s paw, following by an agonized scream from Bixbite.

Mandra threw herself to the ground as blood sprayed about. But it wasn’t hers—it belonged to Bixbite, thrashing and cursing, bent around his copiously bleeding paw.

“Dad, let’s go! Now!”

There was no time to think. In a heartbeat, Mandra was on her feet, grabbing his arm, leading him into as much of a run as he could manage, still squeezing the bundles to his chest. The initial shock had worn off and Mistoffelees tugged them both toward the left, to a bundle of boulders followed by a dip in the field.

“Bloody hell!” Skimble pulled them both down into the grass, daring a peek from between two boulders to make sure Bixbite hadn’t followed them. The coast was clear. “Mandra! It’s really you, poppet! You’re all right! But how did you get him to release you?”

Giddy with relief, Mandra sank against the boulder. Her paw shook from adrenaline, still tacky with Bixbite's blood. “I teleported a knife away a few weeks ago. I’ve been practicing—Dad, I can do magic too! Did you see? I had the knife in the basement and I teleported it and—I was planning it all along, in case I needed it! I figured I’d have to use it on Macavity at some point, but you managed to get him away, and Bixbite’s just an idiot. I stabbed his paw when he tried to claw me. I should have stabbed him in the crotch, but beggars can’t be—oof!”  

Mandra’s frantic monologue ended against her father’s shoulder. Mistoffelees pulled her tight to him, hard enough to crack bone, so hard that all the magic and hench cats in the world couldn’t pry her loose from him.

“I’m so proud of you,” Mistoffelees rasped, breath rattling in his chest and tears welling in his eyes.

Mandra sagged against him, hugging back just as tight. “Dad.”

The relief made Mistoffelees weak, shaky. He wanted to hug his kitten, to bring her home, to curl up and sleep—but the raised voices beyond the boulders reminded him they were not safe yet. There was no time to sit and hug. Bixbite was hurt but not dead, Macavity was hunting for his kittens, and if they all wanted to escape with their lives, they had to see this through to the end.

Mistoffelees loosened the hug, still breathing hard, keeping one paw firmly on Mandra’s shoulder as through she would vanish into mist if he broke contact. “Listen to me. Macavity is furious, and this won’t end easily. You did an amazing job of mastering magic and getting yourself free, but you need to listen to me now: stay with Skimbleshanks, no matter what. Okay? He’ll keep you safe.”

Mandra nodded, bolstered by Skimble’s encouraging smile. Her ears twitched at the growing sounds of shouts, hisses, and growls in the distance, more voices than belonged to Macavity and the hench cat.

“Who’s here? How many Jellicles came here?”

Mistoffelees was still working to catch his breath against the burn in his chest. For the first time in ages, he felt hope.

“Everyone.”

***

Tugger ran.

He was a lover, not a fighter, but running at a time like this felt wrong. He stumbled from bush to rock to tree, fettered by the dual weight of the kittens in his arms, keeping a furtive eye out for anyone who might be looking for him.

It had ripped his heart apart to stay hidden, watching as Mistoffelees limped up to Macavity, as Mandra was dragged out, as Macavity smelled their carefully-concocted deception, as Mandra wrestled her way free (that was his daughter being so strong and brave out there! His daughter!) and finally, as Macavity abandoned Mistoffelees and Mandra and ordered for his kittens to be found.

That meant two things.

One, every assembled Jellicle, having dutifully marched over from the junkyard filled with fury and a desire to bring down Macavity once and for all, sprang from their hiding places. Macavity’ assembled hench cats, expecting to posture but not to fight, panicked for a moment before facing the threat head-on.

And two, while the fighting happened, Tugger’s job was now to run.

Chapter Text

“Uncle Munk! Get down!”

Breathing hard, Munkustrap dropped low, kicking up dust as his paws hit the dry ground. Cyrano, who had been by his side and yelled the warning, swiped at a hench cat. Not enough to kill or maim, but enough to stun, to give Munkustrap the chance to rear back and deliver a solid kick to the tom’s midsection, enough to send him scampering away.

For a moment, no one was on them. Munkustrap put a dusty paw on Cyrano’s shoulder as his nephew braced himself on his knees, panting.

“Are you okay?”

Cyrano nodded with a shaky smile. “This is a bit more… intense than our training sessions.”

Munkustrap pinched his mouth and squeezed the shivering shoulder beneath his paw. Cyrano was as big and broad as he was. The two of them, along with Augusta, had spent countless hours sparring, hunting, and tracking. The tribe would need a protector once Munkustrap was too old to continue. Between Cyrano and Augusta, they had two primed to take over. 

Despite all that, it was difficult, in the moment, not to see Cyrano as the tiny kitten he’d once been. Protecting the tribe was wonderful in theory. In reality, there was a lot more danger, blood, and in this case, death than anyone could reasonably prepare for.

Munkustrap wanted to apologize. Maybe promise his nephew that all-out wars with feline criminal empires weren’t typically part of the job. Before he could get a word out, a series of hisses made Munkustrap’s ears twitch and his blood run cold.

Cyrano reacted quicker, whirling to face the ominous sounds, planting one paw in the dirt so Munkustrap was, technically, behind him.

A pair of white cats stalked closer, fur dripping with blood. Some of it was old and stained; some of it was fresh, and Munkustrap had the awful suspicion that most of it did not belong to the two vicious-looking white hench cats.

Cyrano stood strong, all traces of adrenaline-fueled shakes gone as he raised his claws. Munkustrap had a bad feeling about these two. Most of the hench cats they’d faced so far were violent, but dumb, content to run away after getting a few licks in. These two were cold. Calculating. Not typical hench cats by any means. They were killers.

Had Macavity sent them to find him in particular, Munkustrap wondered? To dispatch him as a threat, while Macavity focused on finding his kittens?

“Cyrano,” Munkustrap hissed. A sharp, short warning to be careful. Cyrano’s back tensed as the queen of the pair shot at them, claws raking.

Munkustrap brought an arm up, blocking what could have been a fatal blow to his neck, catching the queen’s claws down his arm instead. The shock of pain made him stumble, arm stiffening as blood welled and dripped.

Before he could shout for Cyrano to get away, be careful, she was here to kill—his nephew scored a deep scratch to the queen’s back before she turned her attention to him. She yowled, blood staining the white fur, and scampered back to stand next to her companion, fury in her eyes.

“Uncle Munk--”

“Stay where you are,” Munkustrap panted, pressing a paw to the scratches on his arm. They stung fiercely but adrenaline kept him focused, closing in right next to Cyrano. He knew what the two hench cats were attempting, as it was clear the tom of the pair was preparing to charge: circle the two, keep them on the defensive, and close in for the kill.

“Don’t let them get past us,” Munkustrap whispered. He’d made a grave mistake, however. The tom had heard him, and the calculating shuffle paused as he shot Munk a look of pure venom.

And then, abruptly, changed tactics.

The tom charged, but not with intent to separate Munkustrap and Cyrano, nor to circle them. Whether he’d heard enough to determine the relationship between the two or just guessed at it, he’d clearly deduced that Cyrano was the younger, more vulnerable of the two. A perfect target.

The white tom pounced, leapt, and threw Cyrano to the ground, fangs angling for his throat, drawing a stunned yelp from the young tom.

It was the last move the white tom would ever make. He'd miscalculated the protective instinct that ran deep to Munkustrap's core. 

Munkustrap moved, instinct and fury moving quicker than thought. By the time his brain caught up with his body, roaring get away do not touch him, Munkustrap landed on his own tail with fur in his mouth and the tang of blood on his tongue.

Cyrano scrambled in the dust until he was at Munkustrap’s side, in his arms, and Munkustrap spat fur and blood and panted as the white tom’s body twitched, a spurting gash in his throat spilling red onto the ground.

He hugged Cyrano briefly before pushing him off so they could both get back to their feet. Munkustrap wanted nothing more than to comfort his nephew after performing such a violent act in front of him, but the white queen was still there.

Munkustrap pulled Cyrano close to him as they rose on shaky legs. Lucky for them, the queen was torn between staring down at her dead companion, and fixing a look of pure malevolence on the two Jellicles.

“I’m sorry,” Munkustrap said, holding up his paws. He hoped his sincerity wasn’t undercut by the fact that he was still working to spit the dead tom’s blood from his mouth. Maybe they could still salvage this, get away without spilling more blood.

Cyrano’s paw came to rest on Munkustrap’s arm. He assumed it was for comfort, but Cyrano was subtly, yet urgently, pushing his uncle until they’d both taken two shuffling steps to the left, the queen tracking them with murderous rage.

Munkustrap didn’t understand. Maybe Cyrano was nervous, planning his escape. Not for the first time, Munkustrap regretted dragging him to the battle today—yes, he had to learn the realities of being a protector, but this was a trial by fire.

“Let’s… let’s just stop this, okay?” Cyrano said. “He’s right, we’re sorry. You can run. Macavity… well, surely he can’t be worth dying for!”

Macavity had these two trained too well. The queen had precious few thoughts behind her empty eyes aside from blood and violence. And now, vengeance.

Munkustrap adjusted his feet in the ground, ready for her to pounce. But, she never had a chance.

A rustle in the tall grass behind the queen was the only warning Munkustrap saw. Augusta bounded from her hiding spot, hissing, grabbing the white queen’s tail.

It was all the distraction Munkustrap needed. By the time the white queen spit and kicked and freed her tail from Augusta, Munkustrap was on her, raking his claws across her throat. In an instant the white queen was on the ground, spilling blood next to her equally-dead companion.

“Augusta!” Munkustrap cried. He pulled her by the arm, did the same to Cyrano, dragging them away from the dead cats and behind the cover of a low bush. There, with no sign of danger for now, Munkustrap tried not to gag as he spat the rest of the blood from his mouth, marveling at Augusta’s camouflage. He’d had no idea she was even there, sneaking up on them.

“Thank Everlasting you saw me!” Augusta breathed. “Ugh, she was vicious. What’s with some of these hench cats?”

Cyrano grinned, reaching over Munkustrap to thwack her on the arm. “You pulled that stalking trick on me enough when we were kittens, how could I miss you? Little miss stealth.”

“You were moving us so she could get a clear attack,” Munkustrap said. “I had no idea you were there, Augusta. You two make quite the team.”

“Brains and brawn,” Augusta chuckled. She pumped out her arm and felt the muscle there. “Actually—brains and brawn, and Cyrano.”

“Hey!”

Still shaky, Munkustrap allowed himself a smile. The fight wasn’t over, and things could still go sour with the plan, but he felt better knowing he had two brave future protectors by his side.

***

Tugger wasn’t the stealthiest cat around. He was big and furry and flashy, built for dancing but not for speed. With his arms full, he was even slower and flashier.

He ran, wincing at the sound of crunching gravel and dead vegetation beneath his paws, the sounds loud even over the din of shouts, hisses, and thumps all around him. He felt the eyes of hench cats on him, sniffing from a distance, trying to decide if he was an approaching threat, a running coward, or something else. Had they noticed the kittens?

Tugger glanced down. Perfectly quiet, serenely sleeping faces peeked out of the blankets. They felt heavy in his arms, more so than he’d expected. He could do this. He could handle this.

With a graceless skip, he sidestepped a hench cat who’d just come crashing to the dusty ground, Alonzo standing over him. Tugger met his eyes: Alonzo was panting, blood on his paws. The hench cat didn’t get up.

“Where’s Macavity?” Tugger asked, breath tight in his throat.

Alonzo wiped at a splatter of blood on his cheek. “I lost sight of him.”

“Misto?”

“He’s still hidden. You should run.”

Nodding with a bravado he didn’t feel, Tugger hoisted the bundles in his arms and ran as Alonzo rejoined the fray. All Misto had to do now was stay hidden, and Tugger just had to do his part. Shouts and roars exploded behind him, but Tugger only had eyes for a crumpled bush near a boulder, wondering at its use as a possible hiding place.  

He never made it that far.

That was when Macavity spotted him.

***

Macavity stalked about with purpose, fury in every step. It was his fault, really.

He’d been too kind. Too lenient. Too trusting. He’d trusted in Mistoffelees’ desire to protect his runt above all else. He’d trusted Mistoffelees, and the rest of that wretched clan, to keep their word. Macavity always kept his word. He abhorred the use of trickery to obtain what he wanted. What was the point, when discussions could be had, when agreements could be reached?

Sometimes force was required. That was inevitable, when discussions failed. But while Macavity did not hesitate to use force, he never used trickery. He always kept his word.

Was it so much to ask for the same courtesy? Things would be so peaceful and simple if everyone simply kept their word.

No matter.

This was a setback. A costly setback, yes. All around him swirled the chaos of a fight. No matter. Chaos was fine. Chaos kept the enemy distracted as well as his own troops. Yelps, hisses, growls filled he air as the Jellicles slithered from their hiding spaces, surprising his hench cats. He would need to recruit more, replenish their numbers after this was done. He would need extra vigilance to keep his home and new heirs safe.

He just needed to locate them.  

They were close by. He could feel them, was drawn to them. He wondered, hoped, if they felt the same pull towards their sire. If they would cry out for him.

Even if he couldn’t sense them, he knew Mistoffelees would not be foolish enough to leave them too far out of his sight. He’d presented Macavity with a clumsy illusion, an insult really. For all his bluster, the little Jellicle was a terrible magician. And terribly predictable. The real kittens would not be far. He would not entrust them to just anyone. They would be protected by someone who could run, who could fight, who would lay down their life for Mistoffelees’ progeny.

So Macavity searched, scanning the battlefield, and saw the tall tom, the one with the mane. Rum Tum Tugger. Running, his arms heavy with twin weights.

Macavity smirked. Legs pumping, he ran to the Jellicle who held his children. 

***

Demeter knew that howl.

One wouldn’t think it to look at her, but Demeter could fight. Ever since the few days and Mistoffelees had spent locked in Macavity’s basement, she’d spent time training with Munkustrap, honing her technique, sharpening her instincts. And her claws.

Munkustrap called her a scrapper. What she lacked in brute strength, she made up for with speed, accuracy— and a vicious streak when roused.

And right now, she was roused. She was furious— scratch that. She was pissed off.

Whatever fear she may have felt at being back in Elmsmere Way and surrounded by Macavity and his hench cats was long evaporated, replaced with fury. Some of the hench cats came at her—smaller goons, the ones there to bolster their numbers more than to add real muscle. Most ran from her after realizing she could fight. The few that tried to take her on were met with furious hisses and scratches, and in one case, a deep bite.

None of the blood on Demeter’s fur was her own. Claws out, she whirled, snarled, channeling her anger into whoever dared approach her next.

And then she heard the howl. She’d heard it twice before: once, years ago when she’d taken out a certain hench cat’s eye, and again less than ten minutes ago, as a knife magicked into existence found its target.

Demeter snapped towards the sound. Bixbite. In the middle of a fight with Alonzo. 

The burly hench cat staggered back, clutching a shallow gash on the side of his face, below the old scars Demeter had left. In his paw, he held a suspiciously familiar dinner knife. Before him, Alonzo reared and prepared to strike again, stumbling a bit from a deeper scratch on his own thigh, red blood welling through the white.

Bixbite. Demeter’s hackles rose. She’d left the other hench cats alive, more frightened than injured. She was here to defend, not to maim. So she told herself.

She watched, growling, as Bixbite shoved Alonzo to the ground, hard enough to daze him. His claws raised, and Demeter saw red.

She charged.

She ran full-body at him, tackling him before he had a chance to strike Alonzo, before he could raise his claws or the knife against her. His larger body mass sent him flying while she landed on her paws in the dirt, finding her balance. Fury gave her clarity.

“Oh, it’s you,” Bixbite sneered, spitting what Demeter really hoped was blood. “Can’t get enough, sweetheart? You want to dance again?”

Demeter hissed. “Make one more move and I’ll take your other eye.”

“Feisty, aren’t ya.” He’d dropped the knife when Demeter tackled him. She saw it, glinting in the sand, blood on the blade.  

Bixbite followed her eyes, saw her notice the blade. Fear made his eyes widen for a split second—he wasn’t a smart one, but part of him had to realize Demeter was faster.

She lunged for the knife. So did he.

Demeter smirked as she adjusted her course, letting him scrabble in the dirt for the knife. He was so preoccupied in beating her to the weapon that he missed her claws, unsheathed and furious, aiming for his face.

Her claws were the last thing he ever saw.

As promised, Demeter swiped, aiming for Bixbite’s remaining eye. With a satisfying rush of blood and a high shriek, the hench cat staggered, clawing at the air, struggling to find a piece of Demeter to scratch.

“Y’coward!” Bixbite howled, swiping again, spitting blood. Demeter effortlessly sidestepped him. “You absolute cunt!”

It would have been tempting to make it last, make him suffer. But more so than revenge, Demeter just wanted it all to be over.

She didn’t give him the satisfaction of snarling back or hurling insults, to give away her position. She waited until he stumbled by her again, presenting his back to her, and Demeter leapt.

The sudden weight on his back, coupled with his ruined eyesight and panic, made Bixbite collapse to the ground in a rush of dirt. Pinning him down, Demeter let him struggle until he’d presented enough of his front to her. And then, she ended it.

With cold, deliberate swipes of her claws, she sent blood spraying to the sand. Face, neck, chest… within minutes Bixbite was spluttering, twitching, and went limp. She waited an extra minute before getting off him, just in case, and staggered back to her feet once she was satisfied, shaking blood from her claws.

“… Demeter?”

Alonzo touched her shoulder. Panting, shaky, but satisfied, she shrugged off his hand and nodded. “I’m all right. I’m good, I’m… glad he’s gone.”

Alonzo didn’t know the full story, but it didn’t matter right now. One of their tormentors was dead at last, and that was enough.

“We’re not done here,” Alonzo said, gentle but urgent. “We still need to—”

Demeter nodded, shaking more blood from her claws and pulling Alonzo with her, back towards the growls and yells. Later, she could breathe and process what she’d done. For now, it was still time to fight.

*******

Tugger tried to run. Tried. But the weight of the kittens in his arms was undeniable, and the panic of Macavity at his heels made him clumsy. He managed a sprint until he fell to his knees, bowing over the kittens clutched tightly to his chest, bracing himself.

Macavity skidded to a stop behind him. Tugger expected claws raking down his back, and was surprised to feel Macavity gathering a handful of mane in his paw, pulling harshly until Tugger was yanked to his back, coughing harshly. His hold on the kittens didn’t falter for a second.

“This was so unnecessary,” Macavity said coolly. “So much energy wasted on fighting, and trickery. Did Mistoffelees truly believe some weak magic was going to release him from our agreement?”

Still breathing harshly, Tugger looked down to the bundles in his arms. “I guess not.”

Macavity took a step closer, holding a hand out. “You know what I am going to ask. Give me the kittens, now. If you resist, I will take them by force. If you continue to resist, I will cut your throat.”

Tugger shook his head, tightening his grip. “No.”

There was a long, cold moment as Macavity stood still, trying to gauge whether Tugger was truly, truly willing to die for kittens that were not his.

And then he pounced.

Tugger didn’t have time to breathe, let alone react. Macavity’s fist struck his face, heavy as a blunt club, and blood immediately spurted from Tugger’s nose. Dazed, his hold on the kittens weakened, just for a second, just enough for Macavity to pry them apart and wrench the kittens from him.

“There,” Macavity cooed, and Tugger blinked through the spots in his eyes, watching as Macavity shifted the kittens to the crook of his arms. They looked tiny in his huge limbs. “My heirs. You are safe now. You will--”

Macavity’s expression had softened, just for a moment, at the sight of his kittens. It turned into puzzlement now. Blood dripping from his face, Tugger scrambled in the dirt, putting as much space as he could between himself and Macavity.

He watched as Macavity blinked, stared down at the kittens. The tom, with his white fur streaked with rusty stripes, and the queen, a black-and-red tuxedo. Macavity looked to be pondering, hesitating.

The look he gave Tugger was cold and confused and Tugger continued to shuffle back, knowing the look could turn vicious and deadly at a moment’s notice.

Macavity looked to the kittens one more time, spitting. “These are not…”

“They’re not.”

Macavity whirled, kittens still in arms. Mistoffelees stood twenty paces away, with messy fur and trembling limbs, but fury kept him upright.

Macavity’s eyes narrowed coldly. “How? How did you manage--?”

“Magic,” Mistoffelees hissed. Turned up his palm, he flicked his hand, sharp and hard.

The kittens, the illusions in Macavity’s arms, shimmered and flickered, and burst into flame.

He’d expected it, but Tugger still backed away a few more paces at the sudden, raging tower of fire. The Hidden Paw’s scream of agony turned into a moaning retch as the flame engulfed his fur, his flesh, and he fell to one knee, pressing out one last howl before collapsing to the ground.

The fire crackled and spat. Mistoffelees watched, forced himself to watch, until Macavity’s body stopped moving, until the pile of burnt flesh and bone was unmistakably devoid of life, the stink of death in the air.

And even then, Mistoffelees watched until the shadow wisp of heat in his palm trickled away, the last vestiges of fire magic curling away from his body like smoke.

Only then was he certain, absolutely certain that it was over. That Macavity was dead.

Macavity was dead.

Mistoffelees felt the world tilt sideways, strength draining. Before he hit the dirt, Tugger’s arms curled around him, slowing his descent, and Mistoffelees let it happen, pressing his face into the safest place in all of London.

"I got you," Tugger said.

“I'm okay,” he murmured directly into Tugger’s mane.

Tugger’s arms trembled around him, hugged tighter. “You're okay.”

Chapter Text

It worked. Mistoffelees still couldn’t believe it worked.

Weak and shaky from the draining adrenaline, Mistoffelees clung to Tugger’s mane, panting from the exertion, the pain seeping into his body once more. There was blood on his fur, he could feel it and smell it. Some of it was his own. He tried not to think about it.

Soon, they could all go home, clean up, rest, and for the first time in ages, look to the future without fear.

Macavity was dead.

But things weren’t quite over, and Mistoffelees finally pulled himself from Tugger’s mane, blinking at the sun, looking out at the field by Elmsmere Way.

Macavity’s body was ash and bone. Beyond, the dried grass was flecked with blood. Here and there, hench cats ran, others dragged themselves away once they realized Macavity was gone. A few bodies lay still. Mistoffelees only looked long enough to make sure they weren’t familiar.

“Come on,” Tugger urged, pulling him to his feet. Munkustrap was at his side, flanked by Augusta and Cyrano. Together they walked to a barricade of chipped boulders, and Mistoffelees knew what was hiding behind before they’d gotten there.

Mandra was on her knees, staring with a watery smile at the kitten in Skimble’s arms. At Skimble’s side, Electra sat, holding the other kitten. Mandra looked up and flew to her feet when she heard the five approach.

“Dad!” Mandra threw herself into Mistoffelees’ arms. If she hadn’t been so small, she would have toppled him over in his state, and he would have welcomed it.

“It’s okay,” Mistoffelees rasped, hugging her back. “It’s over. You were so brave, so so brave, Mandra.”

He wasn’t going to let her go, ever again. He squeezed until she wormed her way out of his arms. “Dad, air. I need air. It’s okay, everyone’s okay! Just—what the bloody hell happened? Did… did you do that to Macavity…? He caught fire!”

Mistoffelees reached for Tugger, signaling he wanted to sit down, and Tugger helped lower him until he was settled close to Skimble and Electra. In Electra’s arms, the queen was fussing. She was getting hungry.

“It was…” Mistoffelees looked down at his paws. “Magic? Fire magic, I’m not sure. I’ve been feeling it ever since I got pregnant with these two. It felt so strong.”

It didn’t feel as strong now, and that was fine. He didn’t want to dwell on it, and frankly, he wasn’t interested in calling up those particular powers from wherever depths they'd come from.

“So when you brought the kittens over to him, the first time…?” Mandra let the question hang.

“Illusions,” Mistoffelees rasped. He watched as August sat down next to Electra, patting the little queen’s head. “I didn’t know if it would work, but it was the only idea I had. I’m not a good enough illusionist to fool Macavity, so… we thought, why not use that to our advantage. There was a good chance he'd see through the illusion, and march off to look for the ‘real’ kittens.”

He looked to Tugger, who was still disheveled and dazed, but smiling. Mistoffelees still couldn’t believe Tugger had risked his life like that.

“I put more illusions in Tugger’s arms,” Mistoffelees continued. As he spoke, the tom began to stir in Skimble’s arms. Augusta motioned for him, and the kitten was transferred to her arms. “The goal was to have Macavity think those were his real kittens, to follow Tugger, to rip the kittens before he had a chance to ponder them, and then…”

And then, to have the illusory kittens burst into flame in Macavity’s arms, ending the Hidden Paw once and for all.

It could have gone wrong. It all could have gone so wrong. If Macavity had somehow found the real kittens, hidden in Electra's arms the whole time, if the timing had been off, if Mandra hadn’t helped by summoning that knife, which was not part of the plan, but definitely helped…

“You were so brave,” Mistoffelees said to Mandra, taking her paw. “And so strong. You used magic and you were so clever about it.”

Mandra shrugged modestly. “I didn’t have anything else to do in that basement except practice.”

Mention of the basement made Mistoffelees’ chest clench. He still couldn’t believe she was here, alive, and unharmed. “You’re okay though? No one hurt you?”

“They even fed me. I’m fine.” She took her father’s paw and squeezed back. “Are you, though?”

Tricky question. Mistoffelees felt beyond drained, weak from the fight, the magic, the panic, the relief. The first glimmer of joy he’d felt in ages kept him going. “I’ll be fine. I just need a nap.”

“What you need is to get home, now,” Demeter insisted. “And not get out of bed for a week.”

He wasn’t going to argue. With Tugger on one side and Munkustrap on the other, Mistoffelees struggled to get back to his feet, and the full litany of aches and pain came rushing back. He’d only given birth a day ago, and bloody hell, he was feeling it again. His insides felt loose and squirmy and the stitches between his legs burned. Between that and the milk spilling and drying through his chest fur, he probably looked as awful as he felt.

“I got you,” Tugger declared, scooping up Mistoffelees into his arms. He didn’t bother protesting, resting his aching head against Tugger’s mane.

Sudden worry made his head snap up again. “Wait, who’s got the--?”

“Right here, Dad.” Augusta followed right behind Tugger, the tom kitten in her arms. At her side, Electra held the queen kitten. And not for the first time, Mistoffelees felt the hot rush of guilt. Their father was dead. What was next for these poor little creatures?

*******

Mistoffelees got his answer once they’d returned home.

After he’d been bathed, after he’d been looked over by Jenny to make sure the stitches were still good and he hadn’t hurt himself in any spectacularly new ways. Jenny declared him exhausted and dehydrated, and left him with strict instructions to rest and eat and nothing else.

She had milk and bottles ready for the kittens, and promised to bring him tea to help dry up his own milk. After a moment’s hesitation, Mistoffelees agreed. He wanted to ask a million questions about the kittens—where were they, were they all right, were they taking the bottles well, were they crying a lot. He’d barely gotten a look at them in all the excitement. Jenny insisted he could worry about that later, and Mistoffelees soon fell into a fitful sleep.

When he woke again, Tugger was at his side. He didn’t leave for a second. Mistoffelees wanted to say so much. In the end, he settled for holding Tugger tightly, and letting Tugger hug him back just as hard.

Four days passed since the battle of Elmsmere Way, since Macavity’s defeat. Wounds were healing, and moment by moment, things were returning to normal. The looming threat of Macavity was gone forever. Anyone who’d judged or looked askance at Mistoffelees during the entire ordeal were now offering apologies, making amends.

He’d barely let Mandra leave his sight. Which proved difficult, since she wanted to enjoy all the attention, and bounce around the yard recounting the tale of her magic and the battle of Elmsmere Way from her point of view. Cyrano promised to keep an eye on her. All of his kittens did, when they weren’t busy keeping an eye on their father.

Everything was going to be fine. Almost.

Augusta and Electra dropped by on the fifth day. By then, Mistoffelees was strong enough to move around, but rested in his blankets as much as possible. He ate as Jenny instructed and sipped tea and his milk was pretty much gone, but his chest tightened on instinct when the two queens carefully entered his den, each holding one of the kittens.

They’d been taking care of the two ever since the battle. Mistoffelees was infinitely grateful for their help. He needed time to heal, to rest, to wrap his mind around everything, before taking the kittens back.

“Have they been good for you?” Mistoffelees asked, as Augusta and Electra joined him on the blankets. He should have held his arms out for the kittens, but he found it difficult to move.

“They’ve been darlings, actually,” Electra smiled. “As long as someone’s holding them while they sleep.”

Augusta good-naturedly rolled her eyes. “And who knew kittens were so noisy, even when asleep? Grunts, mews, whines… no one warned us!”

“No one warned us either, when we had you!” Tugger said, draping an arm over Mistoffelees’ shoulders. He was looking over fondly at the kittens, but Mistoffelees noticed he wasn’t in a hurry to hold them either.

And the queens weren’t in a hurry to hand them over. They continued to cuddle and coo at the kittens in a way that seemed very familiar to Mistoffelees.

Augusta glanced at her mate, then at her fathers. “I hope it’s alright that we… we named them? It was just easier if they had proper names, instead of calling them ‘the kittens’ all the time. I hope we didn’t overstep?”

He felt Tugger’s hand squeeze his shoulder. “Not at all,” Mistoffelees said softly. “What names did you choose?”

Electra placed the tom in her lap. Immediately he stretched, yawned, finished it with a tiny squeak, and shuffled until he was on his back, paws akimbo. “He always sleeps like that,” Electra chuckled. “All crooked with his paws in the air. This is Volare.”

The queen released an opinionated mew as Augusta unwrapped her, revealing very fluffy and very unruly fur, trying to pry the blanket out of her mouth. She settled for cradling the kitten against her chest, letting her have the corner of the blanket to chew on. “And this is Artemesia. She’s happy as long as she’s eating or chewing on something. I think she’ll be the big one of the two.”

Mistoffelees smiled. They were cute. They were innocent. He would definitely raise them if he had to, though it was difficult not to see Macavity in them.  

“Thank you, both of you, for watching them,” Mistoffelees said, voice thick. “I can take them back in a few days, if you’re willing to care for them a little longer? I just need a bit more time to get back at full strength.”

Augusta and Electra exchanged another, longer look. There was a silent conversation there, each one quietly urging the other to speak first.

Electra cleared her throat. “Well, actually…”

“We were wondering—only if you’re in agreement, of course! But we’ve been growing pretty fond of these little troublemakers, and…”

“… We know it might not be the easiest thing for you, taking care of them, so we thought… well, we have talked about having kittens of our own, and these two need a family, so…”

“We could adopt them,” Augusta finished. She petted Artemesia’s head, who snuffled and chewed on her blanket. “The final decision is up to you, of course, Dad.”

Mistoffelees had sensed the request coming. Still, his breath hitched in his chest, heart hammering. “Adopt them…?”

He looked at the kittens again, completely safe and content in Augusta and Electra’s arms. Peaceful, in a way Mistoffelees hadn’t felt in months. They were innocent kittens. They deserved this.

“You’d be such good mothers,” Tugger said. Mistoffelees could hear the smile in his voice as much as the tremble. And Mistoffelees completely agreed: his daughter and her mate would be wonderful parents.

“I do love them,” Mistoffelees murmured. “I carried them, I… it’s just…”

“It’s hard,” Electra finished for him, her voice soft. “We understand completely. That’s why we’re offering.”

Blinking, frozen, Mistoffelees stared at the kittens. It felt like several long minutes before he managed to look away, looking to Tugger.

Tugger’s smile was warm. “Hey. Wouldn’t be the worst idea. You deserve some rest and these two are clearly smitten.”

Mistoffelees nodded, still raw, still processing. There wasn’t a doubt in his heart when he spoke. “You two would be wonderful mothers. So, yes. I just want these two to be safe and loved.”

Electra’s smile was pure joy. Augusta beamed. “You know they will, Dad. Hell, we’re ready to spoil them absolutely rotten. Mandra already swears she’s going to be the cool aunt who gets them into all sorts of trouble.”

Mistoffelees sagged against Tugger, weary with relief. He hadn’t felt hope in so long. And now maybe, just maybe, things would work out.

*******

Months passed, and soon winter blanketed everything in the yard with a thin layer of snow.

Mistoffelees sat, a blanket around his shoulders and Tugger at his side, watching the scene unfold in the crisp winter air: Augusta and Electra playing with their kittens, Volare and Artemesia, with their favourite aunt Mandra at their side. While Mistoffelees had gotten better about it in the past months, his chest felt a little less tight whenever he had eyes on Mandra.

The kittens were getting big, strong and steady on their paws, full of life and chatter. As they watched, Augusta threw herself into a pile of snow, and a giggling Artemesia pounced on her. Meanwhile, Volare was attempting to shape lumpy snowballs with Mandra’s help, throwing them at Electra as she ran in circles around the clearing.

“Everlasting, they’re so stinking cute,” Tugger chuckled.

Mistoffelees smiled in agreement, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

All of Mistoffelees and Tugger’s kittens whole-heartedly jumped into the auntie and uncle roles: Cyrano taught them how to tussle, Cappella did her best to teach them magic, and Tourmaline sat and read to them every chance she got. Volare stuck like a barnacle to Josephine, eager to learn how to look as effortlessly chic as her, while Artemesia soaked up all the drama tips from Aloysius.

And, true to her word, Mandra was absolutely relentless about sneaking the kittens all sorts of sweets and treats. And while Cappella had appointed herself the magic coach, Mistoffelees heard rumours about the kittens’ toys disappearing and reappearing whenever she was around.

No one ever mentioned Macavity’s name. No one ever looked at the kittens oddly, or with contempt (and how could they, these two were just adorable) and for that, Mistoffelees was truly grateful. They were simply Augusta and Electra’s kittens.

“Do you think they’ll ever ask?” Mistoffelees mused.

Tugger shuffled at his side. “Ask what?”

“You know. Where they came from.”

Tugger brushed a paw over the back of Mistoffelees’ head, soothing the fur. “We’ll tell them what they need to know. They needed a home, and they found one. They don’t need to know about him.”

Mistoffelees nodded softly, not entirely convinced.

Giving his shoulder a squeeze, Tugger grinned. “We can tell them whatever we want. We can say we bought them for an old boot and half a piece of fish.”

“You wouldn’t!” Mistoffelees giggled.

“Look at them! Those two feisty ones? They’ll think it’s hilarious. And they’ve started calling me grandpa, now that they can talk. I’m too young and handsome for that! I need vengeance.”

Rolling his eyes, Mistoffelees smacked Tugger in the chest. They’d started calling him that, too. It was true, from a certain point of view. Mistoffelees wasn’t in a hurry to correct any of that. Maybe it would never be necessary.

The sound of crunching snow made them both glance behind: Demeter and Munkustrap made their way through the snow, taking a seat on either side of Tugger and Mistoffelees.

“You two look like you’re having a big discussion,” Munkustrap said.

“Not in the least,” Mistoffelees snorted. He watched the kittens and their mothers play. Augusta was now hopping over a layer of undisturbed snow, with Volare attempting to jump into the holes left by her feet. Electra and Mandra sat, while Artemesia sprinkled fresh snow over their heads.

It was, as Tugger put it, stinking cute, and Mistoffelees loved it.

“They’re getting so big,” Demeter said.

“Artemesia’s going to be tall,” Tugger agreed. “Maybe even taller than me!”

It wasn’t the first time someone had commented on her size. No one had mentioned any resemblance to Macavity, no she gets it from her, uh, father. Thank the Everlasting Cat.

Macavity had put them through hell, and here they were. Not entirely healed, but getting there, with laughter echoing in the yard. Mistoffelees let out a deep breath, leaning into Tugger, who hugged him close and kissed the top of his head. They were going to be all right. Things were all right.

“Hey,” Tugger murmured against the top of his head. “I love you.”

Mistoffelees grinned. Yep. Things were all right. “I love you too, Tug.”